GOMERY  OF  MONTGOMERY: 


§,  Jfamilg  $)hiax%. 


BY  THE  AUTHQIjfc,  PF,"?HILIP 

;  ,  , » »  >  ^  >     i  i 
•  .»  » •  *  *  °  *  „    »_» 


'HAXTER. 


»       4         O 


IN    TWO     VOLUMES, 

VOL.    I. 


NEW    YORK: 

CARLETON,   PUBLISHER,  413   BROADWAY. 
MDCCCLXV. 


•  *  •    .*•»          *        * 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1805,  by 


GHOHG-E  'W, 


CABLEtON", 


In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York 


Geo.  C.  Kaip  &  Avery,  Stereotypers  and  Printers 
No.  3  Cornhill,  Boston. 


GOIERY  OF  MONTGOMERY. 


CHAPTER    I.   •■ 


"  Old  Man.    Threescore  and  ten  I  can  remember  well ; 
Within  the  volume  of  which  time  I  have  seen 
Hours  dreadful  and  things  strange ;  but  this  sore  night 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings."  — Macbeth. 

It  was  the  year  after  the  Revolutionary  War  had  ended, 
and  that  part  of  the  newly  formed  Union,  which  had  suf- 
fered most  during  that  long  and  passionate  struggle  for  free- 
dom against  the  ideas  and  pretensions  of  the  mother-coun- 
try, was  just  beginning  to  enjoy  the  advantages  of  peace,  and 
to  experience  the  delight  of  receiving  back  the  sons  who, 
years  before,  had  been  sent  to  do  battle  against  the  invading 
English.  From  this  part  of  the  country,  all  who  were  able 
to  bear  arms  had  gone  forth  to  fight,  and  perhaps  to  fall, 
hundreds  of  miles  away  from  home,  leaving  their  own 
hearthstones  to  be  defended  by  the  patriotic  women;  the 
men  too  old,  and  the  boys  too  young,  to  join  the  army. 
Among  those  people,  there  was  no  disloyalty  to  the  cause, 
no  Tories  or  traitors  to  be  feared.  The  feelings  of  patriot- 
ism were  so  intense,  and  the  hatred  of  the  English  and  Hes- 
sians so  bitter  and  deep,  that  no  one  suspected  an  enemy  or 
spy  in  his  neighbor.  The  life  and  fortune  of  every  man, 
woman,  and  child,  were  in  the  struggle ;  and  with  such  a 
make-weight  there  could  be  but  one  result.  This  unity  of 
sentiment  among  the  people  of  New  England  soon  made  it 
apparent  to  the  invaders,  that,  if  they  would  subdue  the  re- 
bellion, they  must  first  possess  that  country  where  Loyalists 
and  Tories  abounded,  and  afterwards  close  around  the  New- 
Englanders,  and  destroy  and  finally  eradicate  those  ideas  of 
republican  equality  which  had  been  planted  by  the  Puritan 

M7?397 


4:  GOMEEY   OP   MONTGOMERY  : 

fathers.  That  nest  of  political  heresies  was  to  be  broken 
up ;  but  so  generally  did  they  obtain  among  the  people,  and 
the  first  invaders  experienced  such  a  warm  reception,  that 
they  soon  changed  the  seat  of  their  operations  to  other  parts 
of  the  country,  where  opinions  were  more  divided. 

The  seat  Of  war  being  thus  removed  from  their  own 
d-qors.,  the  ,sons,;of  ;thc  Pilgrims  went  forth  to  aid  their 
brothers  in'  ^rms*,^—.' it  mattered  not  where,  whether  among 
the  swamps  of  Virginia,  the  fens  of  Georgia,  or  along  the 
rugged  frontiers  of*  ^ke'Oanadas.  Thus  joined  in  a  common 
qause*,  ^he^  wen e,  largely  instrumental  in  moulding  into  an  har- 
monious whole  that  republican  Union  that  was  destined  to 
go  on  in  a  career  of  prosperity  and  greatness  unexampled  in 
the  world's  history,  until  the  insidious  seeds  of  toryism  and 
anti-republicanism,  still  left  in  some  parts  of  the  country, 
should  take  such  root  as  to  threaten  the  re-establishment  of 
a  privileged  aristocracy,  and  to  found  an  oligarchy  of  wealth 
and  rank  on  the  rains  of  democracy. 

At  this  time,  the  power  of  the  Indians  in  New  England 
had  been  destroyed.  The  tribes  had  either  been  scattered 
to  the  winds,  or  were  compelled  to  submit  to  the  laws  im- 
posed by  their  conquerors.  The  stragglers  and  remnants  of 
tribes  were  broken  in  spirit,  harmless  and  miserable.  With 
no  future  for  themselves  as  a  people,  they  seemed  willing  to 
hasten  their  own  extermination  by  falling  unreluctantly  into 
the  destroying  vices  of  idleness  and  intemperance.  The 
savage  having  been  overcome,  and  the  civilized  invader  who 
had  stimulated  him  to  his  deeds  of  midnight  slaughter  hav- 
ing been  driven  away,  the  country,  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  was  fast  emerging  into  the  prosperity  of  peace.  The 
larger  part  of  the  New  England  of  to-day  was  then  a  wil- 
derness ;  and  the  soldiers  who  had  returned  from  the  war 
after  the  long  service  of  seven  years  generally  found  them- 
selves with  nothing  but  their  own  hard  hands  to  rely  upon 
for  support.  But  they  had  a  fertile  country  of  boundless 
extent,  free  and  secure ;  and  they  were  satisfied.  They  were 
content  with  the  issue  of  the  war,  though  their  little  for- 
tunes had,  during  its  continuance,  been  all  dissipated  and 
lost,  their  families  broken  up,  and  the  bones  of  their  fathers 
and  brothers  were  whitening  alike  the  soil  of  every  State 
from  Canada  to  the  Gulf. 

Of  those  who  thus  went  forth  to  the  war  were  the  four 


A   FAMILY    niSTORY.  O 

sons  of  the  widow  Gomery  of  Dorchester.  The  father  was 
one  of  the  first  martyrs  to  the  cause,  having  falltn  at  Bun- 
ker's Hill.  His  oldest  son,  then  a  youth  of  twenty-three, 
also  took  part  in  that  action ;  and,  from  that  day  till  he  was 
surprised  and  treacherously  slain  at.  the  board  of  a  South- 
Carolina  Tory,  he  never,  for  a  single  day,  was  out  of  the 
colonial  service.  The  three  other  sons  also  enlisted  soon 
after  the  affair  at  Bunker's  Hill ;  their  high-spirited  and  patri- 
otic mother  cutting  up  her  bed-blankets  to  make  coats  and 
pantaloons  for  them,  and  telling  them  not  to  return  till  the 
British"  were  driven  beyond  the  seas.  And  they  literally 
obeyed  her  admonition ;  for  two  of  them  did  not  return  at 
all,  and  the  third,  the  youngest,  not  till  after  the  surren- 
der of  Cornwallis.  And,  when  at  last  he  wended  his  way 
back  to  the  place  of  his  birth,  it  was  to  find  the  remnants  of 
his  father's  property  all  gone  for  the  support  of  his  widowed 
mother,  who,  broken  down  by  hardship  and  anxiety,  had,  for 
the  last  year,  been  indebted  to  the  betrothed  wife  of  her 
only  living  son  for  her  maintenance.  The  faithful  Huldab 
Tappan  had  been  to  her  a  support,  instead  of  husband  and 
sons,  and  had  submitted  to  menial  and  servile  labor  that  she 
might  supply  the  wants  of  the  mother  of  him  she  loved. 
Her  fidelity  was  in  time  rewarded ;  for,  as  soon  as  the  army 
was  disbanded,  Robert  Gomery  returned,  and  hastened  to 
redeem  his  pledge  of  years  before. 

The  capital  with  which  this  worthy  couple  commenced 
life  consisted  of  their  own  willing  hands  and  loving  hearts. 
A  free  and  vast  country  was  open  to  them  "where  to 
choose ; "  and  it  was  their  intention,  when  first  married,  to 
make  their  way  into  the  wilderness,  and  find  their  home  in 
the  as  yet  unbroken  forest.  But  the  old  lady  was  too  in- 
firm to  bear  the  hardships  of  the  journey,  or  the  life  that 
might  be  anticipated  when  the  new  home  was  reached :  so, 
for  the  time,  they  continued  to  reside  in  Dorchester,  content 
to  remain,  if  necessary  to  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  the 
good  old  mother.  But  her  days  after  her  son's  return  were 
few.  Within  a  year  after  his  marriage,  she  slept  her  last 
sleep,  thankful  in  her  heart  that  in  her  humble  way  she  had 
been  able  to  contribute  her  mite  —  indeed  it  was  all  the  liv- 
ing that  she  had  —  to  the  cause  of  liberty ;  not  doubting  but 
that,  in  another  world,  she  would  share  with  those  she  loved 
the  reward  of  well-doing. 


6  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

Robert  Gomery,  when  the  last  rites  had  been  performed 
for  his  last  of  kin,  resolved  to  carry  into  effect  his  cherished 
purpose  of  going  back  into  the  forest,  and  there  making 
himself  a  home.  With  that  idea,  he  set  forth  on  foot  and 
alone  to  seek  for  an  eligible  spot.  He  had  a  pack  on  his 
back  containing  a  few  changes  of  raiment,  and  as  much  pro- 
vision as  he  could  well  carry  without  making  his  load  so 
heavy  as  to  impede  his  journey.  He  was  a  brisk  walker:  for 
before  this  he  had  followed  his  country's  invaders  for  many 
days  and  nights  with  musket  and  knapsack,  and  had  been 
followed  by  them,  too,  in  turn,  when  there  was  no  need  of 
bloodhounds  to  aid  in  the  pursuit ;  for  the  blood  on  the  snow 
and  frozen  ground  but  too  clearly  showed  the  course  of  the 
Continentalers.  His  present  journey  he  therefore  thought 
but  play,  as  with  a  young  and  loved  wife  behind  him, 
and  a  new  home  adorned  with  the  luxuries  and  comforts 
that  a  vivid  imagination  conjured  up  before  him,  he  whis- 
tled over  the  rugged  road  happier  than  ever  king  led  forth 
an  army  with  banners. 

The  evening  of  the  fifth  day  of  his  travels  and  explora- 
tions found  him  at  the  door  of  a  log-house,  the  owner  of 
which  was  a  war  veteran  like  himself,  who  had  got  a  year's 
start  of  him  in  his  forest  home.  This  man  gave  Gomery  a 
hearty  welcome,  and  urged  him  to  settle  in  his  neighbor- 
hood. This  he  promised  to  do  if  he  did  not  find  a  spot  to 
please  him  better  during  the  next  day's  travel.  The  host, 
whose  name  was  Ransom  Greenfield,  assured  him  that  the 
soil  in  the  vicinity  was  deep  and  rich,  the  climate  healthy, 
and  that  as  pretty  a  tract  as  lay  out  of  doors  was  still  un- 
claimed near  by.  These  were  strong  temptations ;  and  so 
was  the  company  of  Greenfield,  whose  war  experiences  had 
been  of  the  hardest  kind;  and  the  two  entertained  each 
other  till  a  late  hour,  recounting  the  scenes  of  other  days. 
The  next  morning,  however,  they  were  both  up  betimes; 
and  Robert  Gomery,  having  laid  in  a  substantial  breakfast, 
bade  his  newly-made  acquaintance  good-by,  and  was  on  his 
way  again  a  good  hour  before  the  sun  showed  his  merry  face 
above  the  hills.  He  diligently  pursued  his  way  along  the 
trail,  which  was  called  a  road  since  wheeled  vehicles  had 
passed  over  it ;  and,  just  as  the  sun  was  fairly  above  the 
highest  peaks,  he  emerged  from  a  thick  and  heavy  wood 
upon  an  open  space,  where  he  had  a  distinct  view  of  a 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  I 

large  range  of  country,  rarely  diversified  with  upland  and 
meadow,  woods  and  openings.  It  was  a  beautiful  ^  sight. 
Nature  never  looked  lovelier.  She  was  clothed  in  her 
richest  verdure;  and  the  diamond  drops  pendent  from 
leaf  and  twig  shone  and  sparkled  laughingly  in  the  bright 
morning  sun. 

But,  looking  beyond  the  prospect  immediately  around  him, 
his  eye  rested  on  a  high  hill  that  stood  forth  in  its  native 
grandeur ;  and,  as  the  early  rays  of  the  sun  struck  across  it, 
he  was  so  charmed  with  its  appearance,  that  he  determined 
that  on  the  side  of  that  hill  should  be  his  future  home.  He 
sat  down,  and  contemplated  the  scene  for  a  full  hour;  and  the 
air-castles  he  built  within  that  time,  could  he  have  rented 
them  at  a  fair  rate,  would  have  made  him  a  millionnaire  at 
once.  He  descried  at  that  distance  the  appearance  of  a 
clearing,  which  somewhat  damped  his  ardor ;  for  he  feared 
that  already  it  was  taken  up  by  some  earlier  pioneer. 
He  at  length  resumed  his  journey ;  and  by  twelve  o'clock  he 
reached  the  house  of  another  settler,  less  than  half  a  dozen 
miles  from  the  base  of  the  hill  on  which  his  eyes  had  rested 
so  covetously  in  the  morning.  The  occupant  of  this  house 
was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Asa  Fisher.  He,  too,  had  been 
in  the  war ;  but,  being  wounded  at  Saratoga,  was  sent  home, 
and  did  not  take  the  field  again.  He  had  now  a  wife  and 
four  children ;  and  they  lived  in  a  snug  log-house  having  only 
two  small  rooms,  but  large  enough  to  hold  a  great  deal  of 
happiness.  Our  traveller  here,  too,  found  an  honest  and 
hearty  welcome ;  for  a  stranger  from  the  settlements  was,  to 
the  dwellers  in  the  forest,  equal  to  a  file  of  newspapers,  and 
could  tell  them  of  the  important  events  of  the  day  that  had 
transpired  since  last  they  had  heard  from  the  outer  world. 
Asa  had  already  passed  the  crisis  of  a  pioneer's  life ;  that  is, 
he  had  experienced  the  hardest  seasons  which  he  had  any 
reason  to  anticipate  when  he  first  sought  a  home  in  the  for- 
est. He  had  effected  a  clearing  of  twenty  acres,  and  raised 
each  year  all  the  Indian  corn,  wheat,  potatoes,  and  other 
vegetables  required  by  his  family,  and  cut  grass  enough  to 
keep  through  the  long  winter  a  yoke  of  oxen,  some  cows,  a 
few  sheep,  and  a  horse.  The  difficulties  and  deprivations  of 
the  first  year  or  two,  before  any  thing  could  be  raised  from 
the  soil,  were  all  over ;  and  Asa  was  already  a  contented  and 
well-to-do  settler.     He  gave  Robert  Gomery  a  frank  welcome, 


8  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

and  was  overjoyed  when  he  learned  that  he  was  looking  for 
a  place  whereon  to  settle  and  make  it  his  home.  He  too, 
like  Greenfield,  and  as  all  pioneers  are  prone  to  do,  assured 
him  that  his  neighborhood  possessed  advantages  above  any- 
other  within  many  miles.  The  land  was  excellent  and  cheap, 
the  climate  healthy ;  and  there  was  already  a  grist-mill  within 
twenty  miles. 

The  hill  which  had  struck  Robert's  eyes  in  the  morning  as 
so  beautiful  and  inviting  was  in  full  view  from  this  house  ; 
and  the  clearing  was  fronting  directly  towards  them.  He 
inquired  anxiously  if  that  was  already  appropriated,  and  was 
answered  that  it  was  inhabited  no  longer. 

"  How  is  that  ? "  said  Robert :  "'tis  a  fine  spot  to  look  at." 

"  There  is  a  sad  history  connected  with  that  place,"  an- 
swered Asa.  "  It  is  a  long  story ;  but,  in  as  few  words  as  pos- 
sible, I  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  You  see  it  is  a  lovely  place 
to  look  upon,  —  the  finest  in  all  this  section  ;  and,  long  be- 
fore any  other  place  in  this  neighborhood  was  taken  up,  that 
spot  was  selected,  and  a  man  settled  there  by  the  name  of 
Gault.  We  could  never  learn  much  about  what  kind  of 
man  he  was ;  for  it  was  before  the  war  broke  out  that  he 
struck  his  axe  there.  We  only  know  he  had  a  wife 
that  was  monstrous  pretty,  —  handsome  as  a  picture.  Well, 
he  lived  there  all  alone  for  some  years,  and  had  got  a  big 
clearing,  as  you  see,  and  a  good  snug  and  warm  log-house. 
He  also  had  two  children,  so  it  was  said :  but  that  is  not  quite 
certain ;  for  only  one  was  ever  heard  of  afterwards,  and  there 
is  great  doubt  what  became  of  that  one.  They  were  all 
killed  by  a  straggling  company  of  soldiers  and  Indians  that 
passed  through  during  the  war.  All  that  was  ever  known 
of  them  for  certain  was,  that  one  spring  a  small  company  of 
English,  with  about  as  many  Indians,  passed  through  this  way, 
and  by  the  trail  that  leads  over  the  hill  and  near  the  Arch 
Fountain ;  and  some  two  or  three  weeks  afterwards  a  couple 
of  travellers  passed  through  by  the  same  trail,  and,  coming  to 
the  house,  called  to  ask  for  entertainment.  The  house  had 
an  air  of  death-like  stillness ;  and,  before  dismounting,  they 
called  aloud  to  ascertain  if  it  was  inhabited.  But,  receiving 
no  answer,  one  of  them  got  off  his  horse,  and  pushed  open 
the  door ;   and  what  do  you  suppose  he  saw  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  no  idea." 

"  There,  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  lay  the  half-consumed 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  9 

and  half-decayed  body  of  the  murdered  woman;  and  around 
it  lay  the  extinguished  brands  of  wood,  where  they  had  evi- 
dently been  placed  and  set  on  fire  by  the  murderers,  with  the 
ntention  of  burning  the  house,  and  thus  destroying  all  signs 
of  their  horrid  work.  But,  irom  appearances,  the  fire  had 
expired  of  itself,  and  without  setting  the  house  on  fire.  Hor- 
ror-struck, the  travellers  gazed  upon  the  sight,  and  then 
looked  about  the  house  and  clearing  for  other  signs  of  the 
murderers'  tracks.  Walking  along  a  trail  that  led  to  the 
spring,  a  little  ways  from  the  house  (and  from  its  shape  called 
the  Arch  Fountain,  though  the  Indians  call  it  'The  Weeping 
Angels'),  from  which  the  family  obtained  their  water,  and 
which  was  so  clear  and  cool  that  the  place  had  long  been 
known  as  a  sort  of  camping-ground  for  parties  travelling 
through  this  way,  they  found  the  bones  of  a  man,  from  which 
a  gaunt  wolf  stole  away  as  they  approached,  and  a  flock  of 
carrion  crows  were  hovering  about.  There  was  an  axe  lying 
near  the  skeleton.  The  travellers  could  form  little  idea,  from 
the  appearances,  of  the  way  the  people  had  been  murdered. 
They  inferred  that  the  woman  was  first  killed,  and  the  burn- 
ing firebrands  piled  around  her;  and  that,  as  the  savages  were 
leaving  the  house,  they  met  Gault,  and  shot  him  in  his  tracks, 
and  left  him  to  feed  the  crows.  The  house  had  been  robbed 
of  almost  every  thing  valuable,  and  both  victims  had  been 
scalped.  At  that  time,  there  was  nobody  living  within  twenty 
miles  of  the  place ;  and  the  travellers  dug  a  grave  for  the  unfor- 
tunate people,  and  buried  them,  and  carefully  observed  every 
circumstance,  in  order  to  report  to  the  friends  of  the  deceased 
if  they  should  ever  learn  who  they  were.  They  observed  in 
the  house  a  variety  of  children's  clothes,  —  some  intended  for 
a  boy,  and  some  for  a  girl ;  but  no  trace  or  sign  besides  of 
boy  or  girl  could  they  find,  except  in  the  family  Bible  they 
found  recorded :  — 

Married. 

David  Gault  and  Alice  Fletcher,  April  5,  1773. 

"  On  the  opposite  page  was  written :  — 

Births. 

Randolph  Gault,  born  June  17,  1774. 
Judith  Gault,  born  Sept.  4,  1775. 


10  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"The  next  page  contained  only  the  printed  word  Deaths; 
for  under  it  no  record  had  ever  been  made.  But,  though 
they  looked  in  every  place,  they  could  find  no  trace  of  these 
children.  It  was  nearly  sunset  before  the  travellers  left  the 
place,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  any  investigation  was 
made  into  that  dreadful  affair.  The  boy,  it  was  afterwards 
said,  was  not  there  at  the  time,  but  had  been  sent  off  to  some 
of  his  relations  in  the  settlements." 

"  And  so  the  place  was  abandoned,  and  is  now  left  open 
to  the  first  one  that  comes  along  ?  "  said  Gomery. 

"  Why,  yes  :  it  is  open  to  any  one  that  cares  to  take  it. 
But  there  is  another  part  to  the  story,  which,  when  you  have 
heard  it,  will  cure  you,  as  it  has  cured  others  of  their  par- 
tiality for  it." 

"  What  is  that  ?  It  will  take  a  strong  dose  of  objection 
to  cure  me." 

"  The  place  is  haunted." 

"  Haunted  !  Well,  if  that  is  all,  I  think  I  will  pitch  my 
tent  there  without  looking  farther.  How  ?  —  who  haunts  it  ? 
I  thought  those  old  silly  superstitions  had  all  died  out.  Have 
you  ever  seen  any  ghosts  about  here  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  have  heard  such  strange  stories  about  that 
place,  and  from  such  good  sources,  that  though  I  don't  really 
believe  in  ghosts,  yet  I  can't  doubt  what  they  say.  Since  I 
have  been  here,  there  have  been  along  by  here  as  many  as 
half  a  dozen  different  parties  who  had  never  heard  of  the 
house  till  they  saw  it,  and,  thinking  it  would  be  better  to 
sleep  under  its  roof  than  in  the  open  air,  have  done  so.  But 
they  always  saw  strange  sights,  and  left  in  the  night  terribly 
scared,  and  have  always  said  they  would  not  sleep  in  the 
house  again  for  any  money." 

"  Why,  what  did  they  see  ?  " 

"  Children,  leave  the  room ! "  This  order  was  obeyed  by 
the  three  eldest  children;  but  the  youngest,  being  yet  in  its 
mother's  arms,  was  allowed  to  remain. 

"  I  never  talk  about  wild  beasts  or  ghosts,  or  any  thing  of 
that  kind,  before  my  children ;  and  so  they  don't  know  there 
is  such  a  thing  in  the  world." 

"As  a  ghost?  —  probably  not." 

"  As  a  ghost  or  wild  beast  either ;  and  hence  they  have 
no  fear  of  any  thing  of  the  kind,  and  would  go  into  the  woods 
of  the  darkest  night  without  fear.  There  are  some  bears  and 
wolves  about ;  but  they  don't  fear  them." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  11 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  who  had  been  giving  her  attention  to 
her  household  affairs ;  "  and  I  raly  b'leve,  if  either  one  of  'em 
was  to  meet  a  bear  in  the  road,  he  would  run  at  and  not 
run  away  from  it." 

"  Less  danger  that  way,"  said  Asa.  "  You  know  what  the 
Scripture  says :  i  Resist  the  Devil,  and  he  will  run  away.' " 

"But  how  about  the  ghost?"  said  Robert,  getting  impatient. 
"  I  would  like  to  see  a  ghost." 

"  You  can  have  a  chance  any  night.  The  travellers  that 
have  stopped  in  that  house  all  tell  precisely  the  same  story. 
They  say,  that,  at  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  a  light  shines  up 
from  the  hearth,  and  reveals  the  face  of  a  very  pretty  woman 
sitting  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  holding  a  child's  night- 
gown in  her  hand.  On  the  other  side  sits  a  man  in  his 
stockings,  with  a  Bible  in  his  lap,  not  reading,  but  looking  at  a 
little  girl  who  stands  on  tiptoe  between  the  two,  as  if  going 
towards  her  mother,  with  her  head  thrown  back  over  her 
shoulder,  looking  arch  and  cunning  at  her  father.  They  say, 
that,  when  they  first  see  it,  it  is  the  prettiest  sight  they  ever 
set  eyes  on :  and  all  travellers  report  the  same  appearance, — the 
man  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  the  woman  on  the  other;  the 
child  always  in  that  position,  her  face  turned  away  from  the 
fire,  and  yet  always  giving  out  an  illumination  of  its  own 
that  renders  every  feature  perfect.  This  illusion  lasts  but  a 
moment,  and  all  is  darkness  for  a  short  time;  when  a  noise  of 
fire-arms  is  heard  at  a  little  distance  from  the  house,  and 
then  are  heard  the  shriek  and  stifled  cries  of  a  woman,  and, 
above  all,  the  piercing  screams  of  a  child.  These  continue 
for  several  minutes,  growing  gradually  fainter  till  nothing  can 
be  heard  but  the  spasmodic  screams  and  sobbings  of  the 
child,  that  seem  to  die  away  in  the  distance ;  and  then  again  is 
the  house  illuminated,  and  rising  from  the  floor  in  front  of 
the  fireplace  appears  the  body  of  the  murdered  woman,  her 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  and  her  eyes  always  open,  and  giv- 
ing forth  a  light  that  they  all  say  haunts  'em  and  haunts 
'em.  A  good  many  are  so  badly  scared  that  they  do  not 
stay  to  see  it  all  through ;  but  those  that  do  stay  all  have  the 
same  story.  One  man,  who  was  a  mighty  hard  sleeper,  and 
who  went  to  sleep  before  the  fire,  and  did  not  wake  till  the 
house  was  lit  up  for  the  last  time,  when  he  saw  the  body  of 
the  woman  beside  him,  with  her  throat  cut  clear  across,  he 
jumped  up,  and  run  out  of  the  house  like  mad ;  and  he  never 


12  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

stopped  till  he  got  here,  though  he  came  barefoot,  and  had 
nothing  on  but  his  shirt  and  trousers.  He  was  the  scared- 
est  man  I  ever  saw  when  he  got  to  my  house  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  But  when  I  told  him  a  great  many  others 
had  seen  the  same  sights,  and  they  had  done  them  no  harm, 
he  got  calmer,  and,  when  it  was  light,  went  back  to  meet  his 
companions  and  get  his  clothes." 

A  man  of  gentler  experience  or  of  weaker  nerves  than 
Robert  Gomery  might  have  been  deterred  from  selecting  a 
place  with  such  terrible  associations  as  Gault's  Hill,  or  Mount 
Gault  as  it  was  more  frequently  called,  for  his  home.  But 
he  was  not  of  the  stuff  to  be  frightened  at  an  armed  soldier, 
and  much  less  at  an  unarmed  ghost.  Often,  when  sitting  at 
the  camp-fire  with  his  companions,  during  his  war  experience, 
he  had  heard  many  marvellous  tales  of  ghosts,  witches,  and 
hobgoblins.  But  the  New  England  of  that  day  had  too 
many  enemies  in  the  flesh,  to  look  after  or  give  heed  to  those 
of  the  spirit.  The  re-action  that  had  followed  the  persecu- 
tion for  witchcraft  had  caused  almost  total  disbelief  in  all  su- 
pernatural appearances.  Hence  the  stories  of  ghosts  and  all 
sorts  of  strange  apparitions  usually  had  a  very  matter-of-fact 
explanation  to  them;  and  those  persons  who  had  been  fright- 
ened by  them  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  out  that  the 
ghosts  they  had  seen  were  no  ghosts  at  all,  but  only  the  de- 
vices of  wags  and  mad-caps. 

Fisher's  story,  therefore,  made  small  impression  on  Robert 
Gomery :  and  he  told  his  entertainers  that  he  was  resolved  to 
go  to  the  hill  that  night,  and  to  sleep  in  the  house ;  and,  if 
there  were  any  ghosts  wandering  about  the  premises,  he  was 
determined  to  see  them,  and  ask  them  what  they  wanted,  and 
why  they  revisited  the  earth,  and  on  whom  their  troubled 
spirits  sought  vengeance  ere  they  could  sleep  in  peace.  "  I 
will  have  a  long  talk  with  them,"  he  continued,  laughing ; 
"  and  I  will  get  all  the  late  news  from  their  country,  and  find 
out  how  all  the  dead  folks  are  getting  on." 

Fisher  shook  his  head  at  this  exhibition  of  incredulity,  and 
said  he  would  talk  differently  about  them  when  he  had  seen 
them. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Gomery. 

Accordingly,  with  this  resolution,  at  about  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  he  set  forth  for  Gault's  Hill.  His  hospitable, 
newly-found  friends  put  some  corn-bread  and  a  slice  of  ham 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  13 

into  his  knapsack  for  his  supper,  of  which  Gomery  said  he 
should  invite  the  ghosts  to  partake  if  they  would  deign  to 
taste  of  his  cheer.  Thus  ridiculing  the  ghosts,  he  set  forth, 
leaving  his  friends  to  their  sad  misgivings. 

An  hour  and  a  half  of  brisk  walking  brought  him  to  the 
clearing.  The  sun  was  now  fast  declining  in  the  west;  and, 
if  he  was  pleased  at  the  appearance  of  the  place  when 
viewed  from  a  distance  in  the  morning,  he  was  enchanted 
now  that  he  stood  upon  it.  There  was  a  clearing  of  full  twenty 
acres,  having  a*  soil  black,  rich,  and  loamy,  and  facing,  with  a 
moderate  inclination,  towards  the  south-east.  The  stumps 
of  the  trees  that  had  been  first  felled  were  some  of  them  en- 
tirely decayed ;  and  a  thick  growth  of  raspberry  and  hazel 
bushes,  and  young  saplings  of  beech,  birch,  and  maple,  were 
fast  growing  in  their  places.  But  these  could  be  easily  sub- 
dued, and  with  little  labor  the  whole  space  could  be  reduced 
to  yield  to  the  plough  and  the  hoe.  The  log-house,  though 
it  had  been  built  several  years  before,  and  had  been  unten- 
anted for  most  of  the  time,  was  still  in  a  fair  state  of  pres- 
ervation ;  though  the  door  was  no  longer  held  in  its  place  by 
its  wooden  hinges,  and  the  roof  of  rifted  oak  needed  relaying. 
"  Two  years  of  hard  labor,  two  years  at  the  least,"  said  Rob- 
ert to  himself,  "  would  be  required  to  reduce  a  tract  so  large 
as  this  to  a  condition  so  fitted  to  support  a  family.  Ghost 
or  no  ghost,  I  will  try  it."  He  found  the  spot  where  Gault 
and  his  wife  were  buried."  The  grass  was  growing  green 
and  luxuriant  from  the  little  mound  above  them ;  and  as  Rob- 
ert Gomery  looked  upon  it,  and  thought  of  their  sad  end,  he 
heaved  a  sigh,  and  uttered  a  prayer  that  his  end  might  not 
be  like  theirs.  The  place  was  so  still  and  tranquil,  and  so 
beautiful  withal,  that  he  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing  as  he  strayed 
along  the  trail  towards  the  spring.  He  was  indulging  in 
the  illusion  of  a  hopeful  mind,  and  thinking  he  would  make 
this  place  the  finest  in  the  whole  country.  The  forest 
should  be  levelled,  and  where  it  stood  should  be  bright  fields 
of  waving  grain,  and  broad  pastures  grazed  by  herds  of  cattle, 
horses,  and  sheep.  A  grand  house  should  be  built  on  the 
most  commanding  spot,  and  huge  bams  to  hold  the  as  yet 
imaginary  crops.  While  indulging  in  this  pleasing  dream,  he 
came  to  the  spring  of  which  Fisher  had  told  him. 

This  spring  was  a  natural  curiosity.  The  hill  here  rose 
abruptly,  and  formed  a  cave  or  grotto  some  twenty  feet  in 
2 


14  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY.: 

diameter.  The  arch  overhead  was  rough  and  jagged ;  and 
from  the  point  of  a  rock  in  the  centre  was  ever  running  a 
small  stream  of  water,  that  fell  into  a  basin  below.  This 
basin  was  in  the  very  centre  of  the  grotto ;  and  around  it 
were  several  large  stones,  that  had  evidently  been  placed 
there,  to  serve  as  seats,  long,  long  before.  But  that  which 
had  most  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Indians,  and  caused 
them  to  have  a  sort  of  superstitious  reverence  for  the  place, 
was  the  peculiar  form  and  position  of  the  rocks  that  jutted 
out  from  the  farthest  and  darkest  part  of  the  cave,  and  un- 
less the  day  was  clear,  and  the  light  strong,  gave  them  the 
appearance  of  two  human  figures.  At  certain  periods,  it  was 
said  the  water  could  be  seen  trickling  down  the  cheeks  of 
these  dim  statues ;  and  hence  this  spring  had  received  the 
name  of  "The  Weeping  Angels."  There  were  numerous 
Indian  traditions  in  regard  to  it,  and  there  were  many  indi- 
cations that  it  had  been  a  favorite  place  of  resort  for  the 
aborigines  at  the  time  that  Gomery  first  visited  it;  and  he 
thought  it  probable  that  it  was  a  roving  company  of  these 
savages  that  had  murdered  the  Gault  Family  for  trespassing 
on  ground  regarded  by  them  as  sacred.  But  the  savages 
were  now  little  to  be  feared ;  and  the  more  he  saw  of  the 
place,  the  more  confirmed  he  was  in  his  intention  to  make  it 
his  home. 

Robert  Gomery  had  an  eye  for  the  picturesque  and  roman- 
tic, and  this  spring  had  a  peculiar  charm  for  him.  He  ima- 
gined the  days  when,  in  the  summer-time,  he  and  his  beloved 
Huldah  would  sit  in  the  cool  grotto ;  and  then  his  practical 
mind  was  directed  to  the  consideration  of  its  usefulness  to 
the  farm,  and  especially  to  the  dairy,  which  in  turn  should 
furnish  forth  many  firkins  of  golden  butter  and  many  cash- 
producing  cheeses  for  the  markets  of  the  sea-ports.  The  wa- 
ter that  fell  from  the  arched  roof,  or  trickled  down  from  the 
cheeks  of  "  The  Weeping  Angels,"  falling  into  the  pool  be- 
low, kept  it  always  full,  and,  overflowing  it,  then  stole  back 
into  the  side  of  the  hill,  again  to  re-appear  a  few  yards  dis- 
tant, and  form  a  little  pond,  as  if  Nature  had  intended  it  for  a 
drinking  fountain  for  man  and  beast.  The  place  combined 
so  completely  the  beautiful  with  the  useful,  that  it  was  calcu- 
lated of  a  sultry  evening  equally  to  please  young  lovers  and 
tired  laborers. 

When  the  darkness  closed  about  the  place,  Robert  Gom- 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  15 

ery  entered  the  house,  and,  taking  a  tinder-box  from  his 
pocket,  soon  had  a  fire  blazing  brightly  upon  the  hearth.  He 
next  took  his  bread  and  ham  from  his  pocket,  and  began  eat- 
ing his  frugal  supper.  Often  before,  it  had  been  his  lot  to 
sup  on  nothing  save  the  hope  of  future  freedom,  which, 
though  good  in  its  way,  was  less  substantial  than  the  johnny- 
cake  and  ham  that  had  been  furnished  him  by  good  Mrs. 
Fisher,  and  which  he  now  thought  was  sumptuous  fare.  The 
fire  on  the  hearth  lighted  up  the  solitary  room ;  and  he  dis- 
tinctly saw  the  charred  spots  on  the  floor  that  had  been 
made  by  the  funeral  pyre  of  the  unfortunate  Mrs.  Gault.  A 
little  farther,  a  dark  spot  revealed  but  too  plainly  that  there 
the  blood  of  the  unhappy  woman  had  settled  in  a  pool,  and 
coagulated  and  dried ;  for  the  scales  of  it  were  yet  clearly 
visible. 

Thus  sitting  alone,  he  mused  over  the  strange  revelation 
which  he  had  heard,  and  soon  found  himself  getting  nervous 
and  excited.  "Faith,"  said  he,  "if  I  don't  go  to  sleep,  and 
quit  thinking  of  these  people,  I  shall  conjure  up  their  ghosts 
in  spite  of  themselves  or  me  either."  So,  going  out,  and  find- 
ing some  fragments  of  undecayed  logs,  he  built  a  rousing  fire, 
and  laid  himself  down  to  sleep  in  the  back  part  of  the  room. 
He  had  not  lain  there  long  before  it  occurred  to  him  that  his 
head  was  exactly  over  the  spot  where  had  stood  the  pool  of 
blood.  Though  ashamed  of  his  weakness,  but  more  sur- 
prised than  ashamed,  —  for  he  had  often  before  this  "sank, 
overpowered  and  weary,  to  sleep "  on  the  field  of  battle, 
where  the  blood  of  the  wounded  was  clotted  beneath  him, 
and  on  all  sides  friend  and  foe  were  lying  in  their  last  sleep, 
— he  moved  from  this  position,  and  took  up  another ;  and  was 
just  dropping  off  into  the  obliviousness  of  sleep,  and  his 
mind  was  fast  losing  its  grasp  on  earthly  affairs,  when  he  fan- 
cied some  object  passed  between  him  and  the  fire.  He 
opened  his  eyes,  and  was  sure  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  child 
passing  out  through  the  wall  of  the  house,  opposite  the  door. 

"Nonsense!"  said  he  to  himself.  "  What  a  goose  I  am  to  be 
disturbed  in  this  way!  I  warrant  I  had  seen  nothing  if  that 
foolish  fellow,  Fisher,  had  not  told  me  his  bugbear  stories." 
He  then  turned  over  his  face  to  the  wall,  and  his  back  to  the 
fire;  and,  resolutely  shutting  his  eyes,  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

He  did  not  leave  the  house  till  nearly  sunrise  the  next 
morning ;   and  then,  with  his  staff  in  his  hand,  he  briskly 


16  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

walked  back  to  his  friend  Fisher's  house,  where  the  family 
were  anxiously  waiting  him  to  join  them  in  their  matutinal 
meal.  To  their  curious  questions  he  replied,  that  he  had 
only  had  a  strange  dream,  and  that  he  had  seen  and  heard 
things  very  much  as  others  had  described  them.  But  he  in- 
sisted that  it  was  only  a  dream ;  or  rather,  that,  in  his  sleep, 
he  had  thought  over  the  odd  story  of  the  day,  which  if  he 
had  not  heard,  he  would  have  slept  as  calmly  and  untroubled 
as  he  had  been  wont  to  do  when  expecting  a  brush  with  the 
British  the  next  morning  at  daylight. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  were  not  awake  all  the  while  ?  "  asked 
Fisher. 

"ISTo,  I  am  not  sure  :  I  thought  I  was  broad  awake,  I  con- 
fess. And  yet  I  don't  believe  there  has  been  a  ghost  on  the 
earth  since  the  witch  of  Endor  quit  it  in  such  high  dudgeon : 
and,  if  anybody  supposes  I  am  to  be  thwarted  in  my  pur- 
pose by  any  stories  of  scared  boys  or  foolish  old  women,  he 
may  give  up  that  notion  at  once;  for  I  am  resolved  that  I 
shall  take  that  place  in  spite  of  them." 

Fisher  saw  that  his  guest  was  getting  nettled,  and  that  it 
was  useless  to  attempt  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose. 
The  subject  of  the  ghosts  was  therefore  dropped ;  and,  after 
a  silence  of  a  few  minutes,  Gomery  asked  him  if  he  knew  to 
whom  the  land  belonged. 

"It  did  belong,"  answered  Fisher,  "to  Col.  Scranton  of 
Boston.  He  was  the  original  grantee  of  all  this  section.  I 
bought  my  land  of  him.  Whether  Gault  ever  paid  him  for 
it,  I  don't  know  ;  but  it  is  probable  he  only  had  a  bond  for  a 
deed,  and  that,  as  Gault  was  killed,  the  deed  was  never  exe- 
cuted. Anybody  knows  Col.  Scranton.  He  is  one  of  the 
rich  folks  in  Boston,  and  lives  close  by  the  State  House." 

Being  informed  on  this  point,  Gomery  told  his  host,  that, 
on  his  return  to  Dorchester,  he  should  go  right  over  to  Bos- 
ton, and  find  Col.  Scranton ;  and,  if  the  place  could  be  had 
for  any  reasonable  price,  he  should  certainly  bargain  for  it. 
Fisher  told  him  that  he  had  no  doubt  it  could  be  had  very 
cheap ;  for  nobody  else  wanted  it,  or  would  buy  it  at  any 
price.  He  asked  his  hosts  a  multiplicity  of  questions  about 
what  was  required  for  pioneers  in  the  forest ;  and  he  also 
took  a  bit  of  a  walk,  for  the  sake  of  exercise,  as  he  said,  to 
the  house  of  one  of  Fisher's  near  neighbors,  named  Thomas 
Thorpe.    He  found  Thorpe  situated  very  much  as  Fisher 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  17 

was,  —  with  a  small  clearing,  and  a  family  of  half  a  dozen  chil- 
dren, all  boys.  He  talked  with  him  about  the  country,  its 
advantages  and  disadvantages ;  and  informed  him  that  he  had 
resolved  to  settle  on  Gault's  Mount,  or  Mount  Gault  as  it 
was  indifferently  called. 

"  The  place  is  haunted,"  said  Thorpe. 

"  That  don't  frighten  me." 

"  But,  if  you  had  heard  all  the  stories  about  t  that  I  have, 
you  would  never  go  by  there  in  the  dark.  I  have  had  my 
share  of  bear  and  wolf  fights;  am  lame  now  from  the  hug  of 
a  black  one :  but  I  don't  fancy  fighting  ghosts.  I  advise  you 
to  stop  in  the  house  one  night  before  you  conclude  to  settle 
there." 

Gomery  told  him  he  had  done  that  already,  and  intended 
to  do  so  many  times  more. 

"And  did  you  see  nothing  strange  and  marvellous?" 

"  Nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

"  Well,  we  shall  be  glad  of  you  for  a  neighbor ;  for  we 
have  only  two  near  neighbors, — Fisher,  as  you  know,  and 
Welch,  who  lives  about  twice  as  far  in  the  other  direction,  — 
say  ten  miles  by  trail,  and  twelve  by  the  road." 

Having  thus  made  acquaintance  with  Thorpe,  and  an- 
swered all  the  questions  of  his  inquisitive  wife  as  to  his  wife 
and  family,  Gomery  returned  to  his  old  friend  Asa  Fisher's, 
and  there  passed  the  night,  discoursing  of  the  war,  the  peace, 
and  the  future,  to  which  they  looked  forward  hopefully ;  pic- 
turing to  their  minds  the  time  when  the  forests  should  be 
levelled,  and  green  fields  and  comfortable  farm-houses  should 
dot  the  landscape  in  every  direction. 

The  next  morning,  before  daylight,  good  Mrs.  Fisher  was 
up  and  stirring ;  and,  ere  it  was  light  enough  to  fairly  see  the 
road,  the  frugal  breakfast  of  fried  bacon  and  eggs,  boiled  po- 
tatoes, corn-bread,  butter,  and  coffee  made  of  parched  peas, 
was  despatched,  and  Gomery  was  on  his  way  back  to  Dor- 
chester with  his  heart  light,  his  steps  buoyant,  and  his  knap- 
sack filled  with  the  best  that  Mother  Fisher's  homely  larder 
could  supply. 

2* 


18  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 


CHAPTER    II. 


"Archbishop,    What  is  this  forest  called  ?  " 
Hastings.       'Tis  Gaultree  Forest,  an't  shall  please  your  grace. 

Second  Part  King  Henry  IV. 

Huldah  Gomery  waited  impatiently  for  the  return  of  her 
husband;  and  it  was  not  till  the  end  of  the  twelfth  day,  just 
as  the  darkness  was  shutting  down,  that  she  recognized  the 
music  of  his  footstep  upon  the  stair.  Her  heart  leaped  up 
at  the  sound,  and  she  sprang  forward  to  open  the  door  and 
greet  him.  "  I  thought  you  would  be  along  to-night,"  said 
she :  "  I  have  felt  so  all  day." 

"Ah !  well,  I  am  glad  to  get  back,"  said  he  while  she  was 
engaged  unstrapping  his  knapsack.  "I  have  had  a  long 
trudge  to-day;  and,  if  it  had  not  been  for  getting  home  to- 
night, I  would  have  made  two  days'  work  of  to-day's  jour- 
ney. I  had  such  good  news  to  tell  you,  I  pushed  on  with  all 
my  might." 

"I  was  sure  you  would  bring  good  news:  my  father  used 
to  say,  that  I  could  always  tell  what  was  going  to  happen ; 
that,  if  he  heard  me  talking  about  folks  at  a  distance,  he  was 
sure  to  see  them  at  our  house  very  soon  after,  or  else  hear 
something  about  them  that  showed  they  were  thinking  about 
us.  But  how  about  the  news  ?  what  is  it  ?  But  no :  I  won't 
hear  a  word  of  it  till  you  have  got  your  supper ;  and  it  will 
be  ready  in  a  jiffy.  I  knew  you  would  come ;  and  I  have  every 
thing  ready.  Now,  you  dear,  good  soul,  while  you  are 
washing  up,  and  changing  your  clothes,  I  will  get  the  sup- 
per on  the  table."  She  then  struck  up,  in  a  clear,  ringing, 
happy  voice,  one  of  the  rude  war-ballads  of  the  time,  which 
she  kept  up  till  Robert  came  in  from  his  sleeping-room, 
freshly  attired,  and  ready  for  his  supper. 

"Now,"  said  Huldah,  "take  a  good  strong  cup  of  tea  first; 
then  begin.     There  is  nothing  like  tea  to  make  folks  social." 

Robert  took  his  tea ;  and,  after  drinking  off  his  first  cup,  he 
proceeded  to  narrate  the  incidents  of  his  journey,  —  much 


A    FAMILY    HISTOKY.  19 

more  fully  than  they  have  been  narrated  to  the  readei ;  but 
it  is  to  be  taken  for  granted  that  Huldah  took  more  interest 
in  the  trifling  details  than  will  the  most  obliging  and  good- 
natured  of  my  readers,  and  therefore  many  things  not  directly 
bearing  on  the  current  of  this  history  are  omitted.  He  de- 
scribed very  minutely  the  country  over  which  he  had  passed, 
and  said  he  saw  many  beautiful  and  tempting  spots,  and  was 
urged  by  the  settlers  along  his  route  to  select  places  near 
them ;  and  each  one  informed  him  that  his  immediate  vicin- 
ity offered  more  inducements  to  the  settler,  and  combined 
more  advantages,  than  any  other  locality  in  all  North  Ameri- 
ca. "  But  I  continued  on,"  he  said, "  till  one  morning,  early, 
my  eyes  rested  on  the  loveliest  spot  I  had  ever  seen ;  and  I 
determined  to  make  that  my  future  home.  But  at  the 
house  nearest  to  it  they  told  me  it  was  a  haunted  spot." 

"What!  haunted?" 

"Indeed,  they  said  so,  and  they  believed  it;  and  they 
said,  too,  that  it  was  because  it  was  haunted  that  nobody 
had  ever  settled  there  since  the  first  settlers  were  mur- 
dered." 

"Murdered?" 

"  Yes :  the  family  that  first  took  up  the  place  were  killed, 
in  time  of  the  war,  by  a  company  of  English  and  Indians 
that  passed  through  that  way ;  and  the  people  in  the  neigh- 
borhood say  the  place  has  been  haunted  ever  since." 

"Well,  I  never  heard  of  a  ghost  that  troubled  a  quiet 
conscience,  and  all  the  hobgoblin  stories  ever  invented  will 
not  frighten  me." 

"But  hear  what  the  story  is,  and  listen  to  my  own  experi- 
ence, and  perhaps  you  will  not  be  so  incredulous." 

Huldah  remained  silent,  slowly  eating  her  supper,  while 
Robert  proceeded  to  narrate,  to  its  minutest  details,  all  that 
he  had  heard  from  Fisher  and  Thorpe :  and  he  did  not  with- 
hold the  fact,  either,  that  he  had  had  a  very  strange  dream, 
so  like  reality  that  he  could  not  see  the  difference ;  or  else  he 
had  seen  unreal  figures,  or,  in  plain  language,  ghosts,  wander- 
ing about  the  house  while  he  was  staying  in  it. 

"  I  warrant  you,"  said  she,  "  they  are  honest  ghosts,  and 
will  do  no  harm  to  honest  people.  At  any  rate,  in  my  mind, 
they  are  no  objection  to  the  place ;  and  the  sooner  we  make 
sure  of  it,  the  better." 

The  next  day,  therefore,  Robert  went  into  Boston  to  hunt 


20  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

up  Col.  Scranton,  and  see  if  he  could  make  a  bargain  with 
him  for  the  land  on  Gault's  Hill.  Huldah,  in  the  mean 
while,  busied  herself  in  getting  ready  for  a  removal  into  the 
wilderness.  The  labor  of  preparation  for  the  journey  was 
not  much,  as  their  house  contained  barely  the  necessaries  for 
housekeeping.  They  were  in  that  blissful  state  that  poor 
people  are  often  in,  —  being  free  to  move  with  slight  inconve- 
nience ;  whereas  the  rich  often  find  their  possessions  to  be  only 
as  clogs  and  fetters,  that  keep  them  as  prisoners  bound  to 
places  they  would  gladly  leave.  The  original  Tantalus  was 
probably  only  a  rich  man  whose  great  wealth  bound  him  to 
one  spot ;  and  being  bothered  to  death  with  agents  and  ser- 
vants, to  say  nothing  of  the  sharks  of  the  law  and  others 
who  were  trying  to  get  his  thrifty  earnings  away  from  him, 
he  could  enjoy  nothing;  and  so  some  illiterate  booby  of  a 
painter  who  could  not  read  or  write,  and  therefore  could  not 
represent  his  character  in  words,  resorted  to  the  clumsy  de- 
vice of  painting  him  as  chained  to  a  rock,  with  tempting 
things  always  before  his  eyes,  but  which,  though  always 
starving  to  death,  he  could  never  touch. 

To  find  the  house  of  Col.  Scranton  in  Boston  was  not  a 
difficult  matter;  and  Robert  Gomery  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  that  benevolent  and  wealthy  old  gentleman  about 
nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  asked  him  if  he  was  not 
the  owner  of  a  piece  of  land,  away  back  in  the  woods,  that  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Gault  had  once  settled  on. 

"I  did  own  it  once,"  was  the  reply,  "and  I  suppose  it  is 
mine  now  ;  but  I  have  pretty  much  forgotten  all  about  it.  I 
have  a  whole  township  up  there,  all  but  a  few  small  farms  I 
have  sold ;  and,  whether  I  have  a  right  to  sell  that  tract  or 
not,  there  are  other  places  just  as  good  that  I  will  sell  very 
cheap  to  honest,  industrious  settlers." 

"  But  I  have  taken  a  fancy  to  that  particular  lot,"  said 
Robert ;  "  and,  as  nobody  is  occupying  it,  I  presume  it  is  for 
sale,  if  I  could  only  find  the  owner." 

"  The  fact  is,  it  is  legally  mine,"  said  Scranton ;  "  at  least, 
I  think  so.  Gault  was  a  young,  enterprising  fellow,  and  he 
had  a  lovely  wife ;  and  I  gave  him  a  bond  of  this  kind  :  He 
was  to  go  and  settle  there ;  and  at  the  end  of  four  years,  if  he 
cleared  up  thirty  acres,  he  was  to  have  a  tract  of  five  hun- 
dred on  the  payment  of  fifty  dollars.  I  wanted  to  get  one 
settler  in  there ;  for  I  thought  that  would  induce  others  to 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  21 

go :  but  he  and  his  wife  were  both  murdered  before  the  four 
years  were  out,  and  so  he  never  got  the  deed.  He  sent  me 
the  money,  however,  before  two  years :  and  I  told  him  when 
I  was  up  there  with  my  surveyor,  just  afterwards,  he  could 
have  the  deed  as  soon  as  he  liked ;  and*  after  I  got  home,  I 
had  it  made  out  for  him.  But  the  poor  fellow  never  came 
for  it.  I  never  could  hear  any  thing  of  his  children,  though 
I  inquired  very  particularly  for  them.  I  went  up  there  after 
the  massacre ;  but  there  was  no  trace  of  them :  and  probably 
they  both  were  carried  away,  and  died  under  the  cruel  treat- 
ment of  the  savages.  If  either  one  of  them  is  alive,  it  prop- 
erly belongs  to  him ;  but  still  it  can  do  them  no  good,  if  they 
ever  should  appear,  to  have  it  remain  as  it  is.  The  fifty  dol- 
lars I  put  into  a  bank,  to  remain  at  interest  till  called  for  by 
the  heirs  of  Gault :  and,  if  I  sell  the  place  again,  I  shall  put 
the  money  I  get  for  it  with  that ;  and,  if  it  is  not  called  for  in 
fifty  years,  I  shall  direct  to  give  it  to  some  charity." 

"  You  can  give  a  complete  title  ?  " 

"A  warranty  deed." 

"What  are  your  terms  for  the  same  tract  you  sold  to 
Gault?" 

"  I  ought  to  have  not  less  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  dol- 
lars. I  have  offered  it  for  that,  and  I  suppose  I  must  let  you 
have  it  for  the  same.  I  think  it  is  the  prettiest  site  I  ever 
saw ;  and,  if  I  were  not  so  old,  I  would  keep  it,  and  have  a 
house  built  for  myself,  only  I  would  not  like  the  associa- 
tions." 

"  Oh !  you  have  seen  the  ghosts,  then  ?  " 

"  Ghosts  ?    Nonsense !  " 

"  But  they  all  say  up  there  that  the  place  is  haunted." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  ghosts." 

"Then  it  will  be  worth  no  less  to  you  on  that  account." 

"  But  I  am  a  poor  man,  and  am  unwilling  to  pay  more  than 
you  could  get  from  another  person.  You  admit  that  the  as- 
sociations of  the  place  are  not  agreeable  to  you,  or  else  you 
would  keep  it.  What  will  you  charge  me  for  the  tract  be- 
yond it,  on  the  western  declivity  of  the  hill  ?  " 

"  No :  I  prefer  to  sell  this  Gault  Tract.  Say  what  you  are 
willing  to  give." 

"  I  can't  pay  but  a  mere  trifle,  cash  in  hand." 

"  Well,  that  don't  matter :  pay  me  fifty  dollars  down,  and 


22  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

give  me  your  note  for  two  years  for  a  hundred,  with  a  mort- 
gage on  the  place,  and  I  will  give  you  a  deed." 

"  I  will  do  it,"  said  Gomery. 

"  Well,  then,  call  to-morrow,  and  the  deed  shall  be  ready. 
The  township  was  surveyed  seven  years  ago;  audi  have  only 
to  hunt  up  the  deed  I  filled  out  for  Gault,  and  make  another 
like  it,  only  inserting  your  name  in  place  of  his.  What  may 
I  call  your  name  ?  " 

"  Robert  Gomery." 

"  All  right :  call  to-morrow,  and  get  your  deed.  You  are  a 
lucky  man  to  get  this  property  so  cheap." 

"It  is  all  owing  to  the  ghosts,"  said  Robert.  "Did  you 
see  any  of  those  spirits  when  you  were  up  there  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  didn't  have  a  very  quiet  night ;  and, 
though  we  staid  about  the  place  for  a  week,  none  of  us  ever 
slept  in  the  house  after  the  first  night.  But  let  us  drop  the 
subject.     Good-morning,  sir." 

Robert  took  the  hint,  and  left  well  satisfied  with  his  bar- 
gain ;  and,  when  he  reached  his  own  house,  he  was  met  at 
the  threshold  by  Huldah,  eager  to  learn  the  result  of  his  visit. 
When  informed  that  he  had  got  the  land  at  so  cheap  a  rate,  and 
because  of  the  ghosts,  she  laughed  at  the  credulity  of  people 
who  could  thus  be  imposed  upon ;  saying  that  ghosts  were 
very  good  things,  and  very  useful  to  those  who  were  not 
afraid  of  them. 

Though  Robert  had  set  forth  on  his  first  journey  early  in 
the  spring,  and  before  the  frost  was  out  of  the  ground,  yet, 
with  all  his  despatch,  the  season  was  well  advanced  before 
he  was  ready  to  set  out  for  the  second  time,  taking  with  him 
his  household  gods, — an  expression  supposed  to  mean  cooking 
utensils.  He  was  in  great  haste  to  get  to  his  new  home  in 
season  to  make  a  crop  that  year ;  and  so,  on  his  return  the 
next  day  from  Col.  Scranton's1  with  his  deed,  he  and  Huldah 
set  to  work  alertly  to  get  ready  to  depart.  By  "  swapping 
around,"  trading  off  things  they  had,  and  could  not 
carry  with  them,  for  those  which  they  had  not  and  must 
have,  they  were  able,  after  paying  the  fifty  dollars  to  Col. 
Scranton,  to  increase  their  stock ;  so  that,  in  addition  to  the 
household  utensils,  and  firm  and  forest  tools  indispensable  in 
their  new  home,  they  had  three  milch  cows,  two  horses,  and 
seven  sheep. 

The  rays  of  the  sun  struck  brightly  across  the  waters  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  23 

Boston  Harbor,  and  were  just  warming  into  a  cheery  glow 
the  Heights  of  Dorchester,  as  Robert  Gomery  and  his  wife  set 
forth  on  their  way  to  their  distant  home.  Many  of  their 
neighbors  were  out,  early  as  it  was,  to  witness  their  depart- 
ure, and  bid  them  God  speed.  On  one  of  the  horses  rode 
Huldah,  looking  fresh  and  hopeful,  her  cheeks  red  as  the 
roses  by  the  wayside  that  were  lifting  their  heads  brightly 
towards  the  sky.  But  though  her  courage  was  high,  and  her 
heart  brave,  yet  her  eyes  were  moist,  as,  without  lifting 
them  to  those  around  her  (for  she  knew  they  would  overflow 
if  she  did),  she  turned  her  horse's  head  towards  the  road, 
and  faintly  saying  "  Good-by ! "  and  "  God  bless  you ! "  she  took 
her  way  along  the  road,  and,  with  her  husband,  commenced 
the  long  journey.  She  looked  beautiful,  although  she  did 
not  ride  forth  like  a  princess,  her  steed  richly  caparisoned, 
prancing  and  champing  to  be  galloping  over  the  road. 
Her  horse  was  a  stout,  slow,  honest  farm-horse,  his  back 
rounded  like  a  rainbow ;  and,  in  addition  to  herself,  he  bore 
a  good  quantity  of  wearing  apparel,  stuffed  into  bags,  that 
hung,  like  John  Gilpin's  wine-bottles,  across  the  animal's 
back,  behind  the  saddle.  The  other  horse  was  loaded  down 
with  farm-tools,  pots,  pans,  kettles,  books,  and  an  infinite  va- 
riety of  things  necessary  and  convenient.  Robert  walked  in 
front,  driving  the  cows  and  sheep  before  him,  which  at  first 
gave  him  trouble,  as  the  latter  were  wild  and  shy,  and  the 
former  were  ever  for  running  back  to  the  yard  where  their 
young  were  left  with  their  last  breakfast  to  be  derived  from 
the  maternal  source,  or  "  Nature's  fount."  Indeed,  they  had 
all  had  their  last  breakfast  of  any  kind ;  for  the  butcher  was 
already  in  the  yard  with  them,  ready  to  take  them  to  the 
slaughter-house,  and  there  convert  them  into  young  beef. 
But  sheep  and  cattle  both  soon  got  tamed  and  tired  ;  and, 
after  causing  Robert  a  little  extra  running,  they  settled  down 
into  a  steady  jog,  and  left  him  to  walk  quietly  beside  his  wife, 
and  talk  of  what  they  had  left,  and  what  they  anticipated  in 
the  future.  They  anticipated  a  long  life  of  contented  toil, 
and  wished  no  other  lot  than  what  seemed  before  them ;  and, 
from  morning  till  night,  they  planned  and  talked  of  what 
and  how  they  would  do  in  their  new  home ;  and,  trusting 
only  to  themselves  and  the  good  Being  above,  they  had  little 
anxiety,  and  less  fear.  Hope  gave  a  rosy  glow  to  all  they 
saw. 


24  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

They  timed  their  journey  so  as  to  stop  at  night  at  the  same 
houses  where  Robert  had  made  acquaintances  on  his  previous 
journey,  and  at  every  place  were  expected  and  welcomed. 
It  was  ten  days  before  they  reached  the  log-cabin  of  Asa 
Fisher.  They  could  hardly  have  been  greeted  more  heartily 
had  they  been  life-long  acquaintances  :  and  the  good  wife, 
Ruth,  declared  that  it  was  "  the  most  unfortunate  thing  in 
the  world  they  hadn't  come  any  other  day,  for  she  was 
ashamed  to  say  she  had  nothing  in  the  house  fit  to  eat ; " 
though,  in  truth,  she  had,  in  anticipation  of  their  coming, 
cooked  up  provisions  enough  to  last  her  guests  and  her  own 
family  for  a  week.  But  such  is  the  way  with  many  well- 
meaning  persons.  They  lie  out  of  sheer  good-nature  and 
politeness. 

But  Huldah  told  her  not  to  be  uneasy ;  that,  for  her  part, 
she  expected  to  rough  it,  and  should  be  content  with  a  crust 
and  a  cup  of  water. 

"  We  haven't  come  to  that  yet,  here,"  said  Ruth,  a  little 
piqued  that  she  had  been  believed. 

"  Pray,  then,  let  me  assist  you,"  said  Huldah.  "  It  is  so  long 
since  I  have  done  any  thing,  I  should  be  delighted  to  help 
you."  And  with  that  the  two  women  went  into  the  back 
pert  of  the  room,  and  fell  to  work,  and  conversation  on  the 
science  of  housekeeping ;  leaving  Robert  and  Asa  by  the  fire 
to  discuss  matters  of  more  dignity,  if  not  more  importance. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Ruth  alluded  to  the  sub- 
ject that  most  concerned  her  on  her  friend's  account,  and 
asked  her  if  she  was  not  afraid  of  the  ghosts  up  there  on 
the  hill. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  nothing,"  said  she,  "  so  long  as  I  keep  a 
clear  conscience." 

"  You  have  more  courage  than  I  have,  then  ;  for  I  wouldn't 
live  on  Gault's  Hill  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  And  none  of 
the  neighbors  wouldn't  neither." 

The  ghosts,  then,  have  done  us  a  good  service ;  for,  had  it 
not  been  for  them,  the  place  had  been  taken  up  long  before 
we  had  seen  it.  When  I  see  'em,  I  will  give  'em  my  thanks 
and  Robert's  too." 

"  Are  you,  then,  such  heathen  ?  "  said  Ruth,  dropping  the 
subject,  which  was  not  again  alluded  to  that  evening.  The 
news  of  the  ratification  of  the  peace,  and  the  important 
events  that  followed  the  war,  were  the  subjects  on  which  the 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  25 

two  men  dwelt ;  while  the  talk  of  the  women  was  of  a  more 
practical  character,  being  about  the  wants  and  ways  of  a 
pioneer  life. 

The  next  morning,  even  before  the  cock  crowed,  Huldah 
was  up,  and  had  a  fire  on  the  hearth  ere  her  hostess  was 
awake.  She  was  impatient  to  get  to  the  hill,  and  so  hurried 
up  the  breakfast  that  it  was  despatched  a  good  half-hour  be- 
fore sunrise.  Robert  had,  in  the  mean  while,  attended  to  the 
dumb  animals ;  and,  as  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun  lit 
upon  the  side  of  Gault's  Hill,  it  gave  it  a  look  as  beautiful 
and  inviting  as  when  it  first  caught  and  charmed  his  eye. 
Huldah  was  impatient  to  get  to  a  spot  so  lovely ;  and  bidding 
her  kind  friend  Ruth  good-by,  after  having  made  her  promise 
to  come  and  see  her  in  her  new  home  as  soon  as  she  got 
things  to  rights,  she  jumped  upon  the  back  of  old  Rainbow, 
and  whipped  him  along  the  trail.  Asa  Fisher  took  his  axe 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  said  he  would  go  with  them  up  to  the 
hill,  and  lend  a  hand  for  the  day  in  getting  the  place  in 
order. 

"Don't  stay  in  that  wicked  house  over  night,"  said  his 
wife  anxiously. 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  replied  Asa. 

"More  fear  than  danger,  I  guess,"  said  Robert,  starting 
forward,  and  driving  the  cattle  that  had  been  browsing  near 
for  the  past  few  minutes. 

As  they  approached  the  house  and  clearing,  Fisher  called 
Gomery's  attention  to  a  large  tree  that  stood  alone  in  the 
opening,  having  been  left  as  a  shade-tree  by  Gault  when  all 
its  fellows  fell  before  his  resounding  axe.  It  stood  about 
half  way  between  the  spring  and  the  house.  "That  is 
called  the  Gault  Tree,"  said  Fisher ;  "  and  its  leaves  change 
their  color  a  month  earlier  than  any  other  tree  in  the  forest. 
Some  say  the  change  takes  place  on  the  anniversary-night  of 
the  murder.  It  is  called  the  Gault  Tree ;  and  some  folks  call 
the  place  the  Gault-tree  Hill  or  Forest,  though  we  call  it 
Mount  Gault." 

"Probably,  when  the  ghosts  come,  they  heat  their  cal- 
drons under  that  tree,"  said  Gomery ;  "  and  that  changes  the 
color  of  the  leaves." 

"  You  will  see,"  said  Fisher,  not  at  all  pleased  at  the  scep- 
tical way  in  which  Gomery  treated  all  allusion  to  the  ghosts. 

That  day  saw  a  wonderful  revolution  on  Mount  Gault. 

3 


26  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

Robert  and  Asa  made  their  axes  ring  in  clearing  up  brush, 
cutting  wood,  and  building  a  yard  for  the  cattle,  repairing 
the  house,  and  redeeming  from  waste  and  ruin  the  premises 
that  had  been  going  to  decay  ever  since  the  night  of  the 
Gault  murder. 

Nor  was  Huldah  less  busy.  She  had  not  been  an  hour  in 
the  house  before  a  brisk  fire  was  on  the  hearth ;  and  over  it 
was  set  the  brass  kettle,  filled  with  water  from  the  spring ; 
and,  with  a  scrubbing-brush  of  hemlock  twigs  made  by 
Robert  for  the  occasion,  she  was  scouring  the  floor,  and  ob- 
literating the  signs  of  the  dark  deed  the  room  had  once  wit- 
nessed. But  there  was  one  spot,  that,  though  she  scrubbed 
it  long,  would  still  look  black.  She  scoured  it  with  hot 
water  and  with  cold  water,  with  ashes  and  with  sand,  but  all 
in  vain ;  and  she  remarked  to  her  husband  and  Fisher,  that 
she  did  not  see  why  she  could  not  get  that  spot  clean,  for  it 
seemed  as  if  all  the  water  of  the  spring  could  never  wash  it 
white.  They  knew  what  had  once  been  there,  and /glanced 
significantly  at  each  other. 

"  Probably  it's  the  ghost's  doings,"  said  Robert ;  at  which 
Fisher  shuddered  so,  that  both  he  and  his  wife  broke  into  a 
broad  laugh. 

"You  may  laugh  to-day,"  said  he;  "but  we  will  see  who 
laughs  to-morrow.  But  it  is  getting  towards  sundown,  and 
I  must  be  going  home.  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  night  of  it ; 
but  I  am  sure  you  won't  have  it,  and  will  want  to  change 
your  lot,  even  if  you  lose  all  the  money  you  have  paid." 

"  Oh !  never  fear,"  said  Huldah :  "  if  you  will  cast  your  eyes 
this  way  early  in  the  morning,  you  will  see  the  smoke  rising 
quietly  above  the  house,  and  you  may  take  that  as  a  sign 
that  all  is  right." 

"  I  hope  it  may  be  so,"  said  he,  still  doubting ;  "  but  good- 
evening.  If  any  thing  happens,  it  can't  be  said  Asa  Fisher 
has  not  done  his  duty,  and  given  fair  warning."  So  saying, 
he  shouldered  his  axe,  and  trudged  away. 

During  the  day,  a  great  change  had  taken  place  in  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  premises ;  for,  instead  of  looking  cheerless 
and  deserted,  they  had  an  air  of  neatness  and  comfort. 
Robert  and  Asa  had  manufactured  various  rude  articles  of 
house-furniture,  that,  if  not  elegant,  were  none  the  less  useful. 

From  a  bit  of  board  that  had  escaped  the  funeral  pyre 
they  made  a  small  table ;  and,  by  rifting  the  cut  log  of  a  still 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  27 

undecayed  oak,  they  made  some  rough  benches,  that  served, 
in  the  absence  of  chairs,  for  seats.  Outside,  there  had  been 
a  great  clearing-up  of  underbrush  and  rubbish,  and  every 
thing  had  a  renovated  appearance.  Good  Mother  Fisher 
had  given  her  husband,  on  setting  out  in  the  morning,  a 
meal-bag  to  carry  on  his  shoulder,  in  which  she  had  put  a 
couple  of  loaves  of  brown  rye  and  corn  bread,  with  a  roll  of 
her  own  golden  butter  and  a  small  cheese.  Upon  this  store, 
with  the  milk  drawn  from  the  cows,  they  made  a  luxurious 
repast  of  bread  and  milk;  and  then,  when  the  evening  closed 
in,  they  made  their  bed  for  the  first  night  upon  the  floor. 

The  day  had  been  a  happy  one,  and  Huldah  often  spoke 
of  it  in  after-years  as  the  happiest  of  her  whole  life.  When 
all  the  other  duties  of  the  day  were  concluded,  Robert  took 
the  old  Bible  that  his  father  was  accustomed  to  read  when 
he  was  a  small  boy ;  and,,  having  read  a  portion  by  the  light 
of  the  dim  fire,  the  two  united  to  return  thanks  to. the  Giver 
of  all  good  gifts;  and,  in  their  excess  of  joy  and  thankfulness, 
the  tears  of  gratitude  welled  up  from  their  hearts,  and  over- 
flowed. 

This  couple,  so  innocent  of  wrong  to  any  human  being,  of 
faith  so  undoubting  in  the  Supreme  Ruler  of  the  universe,  — 
how  could  they  have  any  fear  of  ghosts?  It  is  only  sceptics 
who  fear  such  incorporeal  wanderers,  or  the  guilty  who  feel 
that  they  deserve  to  be  punished.  But  the  clear  conscience, 
and  the  unhesitating  faith  in  a  just  and  wise  Ruler,  fear 
nothing  from  those  spirits  that  walk  abroad  in  the  dark.  A 
fear  of  such  visitants  implies  either  a  bad  conscience  or  a 
defective  faith.  Believe  you  that  a  God  of  love  and  justice 
rules  the  earth  ?  Then  why,  if  guilt  is  not  on  your  soul,  fear 
to  meet  the  spirits  of  the  dead  ?  Is  not  God  over  all,  and 
governing  all  ?  and  will  you  blaspheme  him  by  doubting  his 
omnipotence,  and  dreading  lest  he  shall  not  protect  you  from 
the  power  of  those  whom  he  allows  to  revisit  the  earth  from 
the  other  world  ?  God  is  good,  and  he  rules  everywhere. 
He  is  everywhere.  Believe  this ;  and,  if  you  have  no  guilt 
on  your  conscience,  you  will  never  fear  that  he  will  send  in- 
corporeal beings  to  torment  you. 

Robert  Gomery  had  no  fear  of  ghosts ;  neither  had  his 
wife  Huldah :  and  so,  in  spite  of  all  they  had  heard,  after 
the  labors  and  duties  of  the  day  were  over,  they  betook 
themselves  to  their  hard  couch,  and  soon  fell  asleep.     They 


28  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY: 

had  thought  it  not  unlikely  that  they  would  see  strange 
sights  before  morning,  and  had  some  curiosity  to  witness 
the  singular  apparition  that  report  said  had  so  long  haunted 
the  place ;  but,  further  than  that,  they  neither  knew  nor  cared 
whether  they  saw  or  heard  any  thing  of  it. 

They  had  slept,  they  knew  not  how  long,  when  both  of 
them  opened  their  eyes  on  a  scene  exactly  as  it  had  been 
several  times  described  to  them.  A  beautiful  woman,  par- 
tially disrobed,  with  a  sweet  witching  smile ;  her  dress  half 
open  in  front,  revealing  a  neck  and  bust  of  marvellous 
beauty ;  her  eyes  cast  with  a  look  of  unspeakable  love  on  an 
object  near  her, — was  sitting,  clearly,  distinctly,  as  in  real 
life  and  in  the  broad  day,  upon  one  corner  of  the  hearth. 
She  was  holding  in  her  hand  a  child's  night-gown ;  and  oppo- 
site, at  the  other  corner,  sat  a  man  of  rugged,  manly  appear- 
ance, in  his  stocking-feet,  holding  a  large  book,  apparently  a 
Bible,  on  his  lap.  His  eyes,  too,  were  resting  on  a  figure 
that  was  directly  in  front  of  the  fire-place  and  between  the 
other  two.  This  was  the  figure  of  a  little  girl,  as  if  ap- 
proaching, half  reluctant,  from  its  father  to  its  mother,  and 
with  its  face  averted  from  the  fire,  casting  back  an  arch  look 
over  her  shoulder  to  the  good  man,  who,  with  a  smile,  was 
admonishing  her  to  bed. 

The  face  of  the  child  seemed  to  be  strangely  lit  up ;  for  it 
appeared  to  have  a  brightness  of  its  own  that  revealed  every 
feature,  though  averted  from  the  light  of  the  fire.  This  sin- 
gular scene  lasted  but  a  moment,  and  was  succeeded  by  in- 
stant and  total  darkness.  Directly  they  heard  the  noise  of 
fire-arms  outside,  and  then  the  shriek  and  struggling  screams 
of  a  woman,  and,  above  all,  the  piercing  cries  of  a  child. 

Robert  and  Huldah  lay  breathlessly  silent  until  the  sounds 
all  died  away.  The  last  they  heard  was  the  screaming, 
shrieking  voice  of  the  child,  that  grew  weaker  and  fainter 
until  it  ceased  altogether.  As  these  sounds  were  dying 
away,  they  seemed  to  dimly  see  the  face  of  the  woman, 
with  a  sweet,  forgiving  smile  on  her  features,  stretched, 
not  upon  the  floor,  but,  as  it  were,  suspended  in  the  air. 
Her  neck,  so  white  and  beautiful  as  she  sat  on  the  hearth, 
was  now  slashed  from  ear  to  ear.  Her  eyes  were  wide 
open ;  and,  though  there  was  an  expression  of  anguish  on 
the  face,  it  was  strangely  blended  with  a  smile  of  joy,  as  if 
the  soul,  in  its  transition  from  earth  to  heaven,  had  felt 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  29 

the  glow  of  the  divine  effluence,  and  impressed  the  mortal 
form  with  something  of  its  angelic  beauty  ere  it  winged  its 
way  towards  heaven. 

Neither  spoke  nor  moved  till  all  was  still ;  and  then 
Robert  said,  "  Huldah,  did  you  see  it  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  did." 

"Then  it  was  not  a  dream?" 

"  Dream !  no :  that  child  or  somebody  else  that  saw  that 
awful  deed  is  alive,  and  its  mind  cannot  rest;  but  every 
night  it  leaves  its  body,  and  comes  back ;  and  it  conjures  up 
the  same  sight  again  so  clearly,  that  all  who  are  near  can 
see  it." 

"  Why,  Huldah,  how  knowledgeable  you  talk !  How  did 
you  learn  about  these  strange  things  ?  " 

"  When  I  was  at  service  in  Dr.  Parkinson's  family,  I  read 
in  the  papers  all  about  what  Dr.  Franklin  said  on  the  sub- 
ject to  those  Frenchmen  that  thought  they  knew  more  than 
he  did.  And  then  Dr.  Parkinson  was  always  reading  and 
talking  about  them ;  and,  after  my  work  was  done  at  night,  I 
used  to  get  some  of  his  big  books,  and  read  all  about  it  too. 
I  made  up  my  mind  on  the  matter  then." 

"  Then  they  are  not  ghosts  ?  " 

"  Ghosts !  — fiddlesticks !  No.  The  mind  of  one  person  of 
strong  will,  —  and  that  makes  me  think  it  is  not  the  girl ; 
alack,  it  is  the  man  that  did  it !  —  I  say,  the  mind  of  one  per- 
son is  so  strongly  impressed  with  that  sight,  that  it  im- 
presses others ;  and  I'll  make  you  a  bet  of  a  boiled  apple 
dumpling  (only  we've  no  apples)  that  the  man  who  did  that 
terrible  deed  is  now  alive,  and  sees  the  same  sight  every 
night.  His  strong  will  and  vivid  imagination  impresses  all 
other  minds  that  happen  to  be  in  this  house.  To  him  that 
sight  is  a  reality.  He  sees  it,  and  it  is  just  as  it  often  is  in 
dreams :  we  hear  frequently  that  people  dream  of  what  is 
going  on  at  a  distance,  and  they  find  their  dreams  come  true. 
The  way  of  that  is,  that  somebody  else  sees  in  reality  what 
they  see  in  their  dreams;  and  there  is  a  kind  of  electricity  of 
mind,  like  that  Dr.  Franklin  discovered  with  his  kite,  that 
passes  from  one  brain  to  another,  so  that  the  thoughts  of 
one  person  often  are  the  thoughts  of  another  person  far 
away." 

"  Well,  you  may  be  right,  Huldah.  I  never  thought  of  the 
subject  before.  I  only  took  it  for  granted  that  all  these 
8* 


30  GOMERT    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

stories  of  ghosts  and  apparitions  were  all  lies  and  nonsense. 
But  I  can't  deny  I  have  seen  something  looking  like  human 
beings ;  and  yet  they  were  not  flesh  and  blood.  Still,  as  they 
have  done  us  no  harm,  we  will  go  to  sleep  again.  But  I 
wish  I  had  not  seen  that  poor  woman  after  her  throat  was 
cut.     I  am  afraid  I  shall  dream  about  her." 

But  his  sleep  was  not  disturbed  again;  and  he  did  not 
awake  till  the  light  from  the  fire  that  his  wife  had  kindled 
shone  full  upon  his  closed  eyelids,  and  awoke  him. 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  31 


CHAPTER  in. 


**  Stung  with  the  thoughts  of  home, 
The  thoughts  of  home  rush  on  his  nerves, 
And  call  their  vigor  forth."  — Thomson. 

The  next  morning,  invigorated  and  fresh,  Robert  and  Hul- 
dah  arose  to  their  toil.  They  were  not  of  the  timid  or  ner- 
vous kind,  to  be  troubled  by  any  thing  that  their  reason  re- 
jected ;  and,  though  the  dreadful  sounds  and  disagreeable 
sights  of  the  night  before  would  often  recur  to  them,  they 
banished  as  much  as  possible  such  thoughts  from  their  minds, 
and  cheerfully  pursued  their  labor,  never  alluding  during  the 
whole  day  to  the  subject.  They  applied  themselves  with 
such  willing  hands  to  their  work,  that,  ere  the  month  of 
May  was  out,  Robert  had  grubbed  and  burned  over  some 
four  acres  of  the  ground  on  which  the  trees  had  been  just 
felled  by  Gault  at  the  time  of  his  murder.  It  was  easier 
clearing  up  this  part  than  that  which  had  been  partially 
burned  over  by  its  former  owner;  as  on  the  latter  had 
sprung  up  a  thick  growth  of  blackberry-bushes,  and  young 
saplings  of  maple  and  beech,  that  had  got  such  root,  that 
only  by  much  labor  could  they  be  exterminated.  On  the 
other  part,  on  the  contrary,  the  small  bushes  had  hardly 
started ;  and  the  large  trees  of  hard-wood  had  lain  so  long 
on  the  ground,  that  the  trunks  were  decayed,  and  easily 
knocked  to  pieces;  while  the  limbs  lying  light  upon  the 
ground,  or  standing  forth  to  the  air,  were  dry  and  crisp,  and 
were  quickly  licked  up  by  the  flames  that  were  sent  to  con- 
sume them.  In  the  part  before  burned,  there  had  also 
grown  up  among  the  bushes  a  thick  undergrowth  of  fine 
grass,  on  which  the  cattle  and  horses  fed  eagerly,  at  the 
same  time  that  they  killed  out  the  troublesome  bushes. 

On  the  part  recently  burnt  over,  Robert  planted  a  patch 
with  Indian  corn  and  potatoes,  and  also  sowed  a  half-acre  with 
spring  rye.      A  spot  near  the  house,  which  had  evidently 

31 


32  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

been  devoted  by  his  predecessor  to  the  same  purpose,  he  se- 
lected for  a  garden,  and  planted  it  with  the  seeds  of  turnips, 
cabbages,  beets,  carrots,  pease,  and  beans,  sufficient  to  supply 
the  wants  of  a  family  no  larger  than  his  was  at  that  time. 
It  might  increase;  so  might  the  garden.  Every  night,  it  is 
true,  they  saw  the  apparition  ;  but,  as  it  did  not  hurt  them, 
they  paid  little  heed  to  it.  They  resolutely  closed  their  eyes 
against  the  frightful  sight  of  the  murdered  woman ;  and  after 
a  short  time  they  divided  off  the  house,  and  had  their  bed  in 
the  back  room,  so  that  they  were  cut  off  from  that  dreadful 
view.  They  still  heard  the  noises  as  before,  however ;  and,  as 
before,  saw  the  light  that  streamed  bright  and  vivid  through 
the  crevices  of  the  partition,  and  through  the  door-way 
whenever  left  open  or  ajar.  Huldah  was  confident  that 
her  explanation  of  the  phenomena  was  correct ;  and,  as  she 
and  her  husband  never  alluded  to  the  subject  by  word,  of 
course  there  was  no  disagreement  between  them.  For  a 
long  time,  as  the  ghosts  did  not  trouble  them,  they  did  not 
care  to  trouble  the  ghosts ;  but  at  length  Robert  took  it  into 
his  head  that  he  would  cultivate  an  acquaintance  with  them. 
His  wife  endeavored  to  dissuade  him ;  but  he  was  bent  upon  it : 
and  so  one  night,  just  as  the  first  light  flashed  into  the  house, 
he  jumped  from  his  bed,  and,  looking  through  the  door,  saw 
the  same  three  figures  as  before.  "  Well,  my  friends,"  said 
he,  and  was  going  on  to  say,  "  What  do  you  want  here  ?  "  but 
the  first  words  were  scarce  out  of  his  mouth,  when  all  was 
darkness,  so  suddenly  that  he  started,  and,  from  some  cause  he 
could  not  explain,  he  fell  sideways  to  the  floor,  his  head  strik- 
ing a  jagged  corner  of  a  bench,  which  cut  a  large  gash 
from  the  ear  across  the  cheek  to  the  right  eye.  He  heard 
no  more  that  night ;  but  his  wife  told  him,  that  instead  of 
a  few  musket-shots,  as  on  ordinary  occasions,  there  was  a 
sound  as  of  a  terrific  cannonade  as  loud  as  the  heaviest 
thunder-storm.  It  had  no  terrors  for  her,  however ;  for,  when 
Robert  came  to  himself,  he  found  his  wife  calmly  bending 
over  him,  and  washing  the  blood  from  his  wounds.  When 
his  consciousness  was  fully  restored,  and  he  realized  where 
he  was,  Huldah,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  spoke  to  him  in 
a  fretful,  querulous  tone. 

"I  told  you  not  to  trouble  the  ghosts.  But  you  wouldn't 
hearken  to  me  ;  and  now  see  what  you  have  come  to !  Don't 
we  know  they  are  our  friends  ?    Didn't  we  get  the  land  for 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  33 

a  quarter  of  its  value  because  of  them  ?  And  is  this  the  re- 
turn you  would  make,  you  goose  ?     Have  ghosts  no  rights  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  they  have  rights ;  but  you  say  they  are  not 
ghosts.  If  they  are  not  ghosts,  but  only  the  forms  conjured 
up  by  the  wicked  murderer,  how  could  they  knock  me  down, 
I  would  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  If  they  were  ghosts,  how  could  they  do  it  ?  for  ghosts 
are  nothing  but  shadows,  and  haven't  the  weight  of  a  feather, 
nor  the  strength  of  a  fly.  And,  besides,  I  don't  think  any 
thing  touched  you.  You  knew  you  were  meddling  in  what 
was  none  of  your  business,  and  so  had  neither  courage  nor 
strength:  so,  when  the  light  disappeared  so  suddenly, you 
started,  made  a  misstep,  stumbled,  and  fell  sprawling,  cut- 
ting your  head  against  that  broken  corner  of  the  meal-chest ; 
and  rightly  served  you  were  too." 

Robert  made  no  reply  to  this ;  but  having  washed  his  wound 
till  the  blood  had  nearly  ceased  to  flow,  his  forgiving  wife 
bandaged  up  his  head,  and  the  two  lay  down  to  sleep  till 
daylight  should  summon  them  to  their  daily  duties. 

The  next  day  they  pursued  their  avocations  as  usual,  and 
without  a  word  of  the  incidents  of  the  night.  The  wound 
on  Robert's  face  was  not  deep,  and  soon  healed ;  but  it  left 
a  scar  that  was  to  be  seen  when  he  lay  in  his  coffin.  When- 
ever his  neighbors  asked  him  the  cause  of  it,  he  always  an- 
swered, "  The  ghosts." 

The  next  night,  however,  no  apparition  was  seen ;  which 
was  accounted  for  on  the  supposition  that  they  had  slept  so 
soundly,  that  it  had  failed  to  awaken  them.  So  uniformly 
had  it  appeared  before  then,  that  it  did  not  occur  to  them 
as  possible  that  it  was  not  present  as  usual.  But  as  they 
saw  nothing  of  it  for  a  week,  and  were  sure  of  having  been 
awake  at  the  hour  when  it  had  been  wont  to  appear,  they 
concluded  it  had  left  them,  and,  they  hoped,  forever.  It 
matters  little  how  sceptical  people  are :  they  are  pleased 
with  signs  and  portents  reputed  favo  able,  no  matter  how 
absurd  they  may  be.  Even  the  sight  of  the  new  moon  over 
the  right  shoulder  is  more  pleasing  to  the  veriest  disbeliever 
in  lunar  influences,  or  foreshadowings  of  the  future,  than 
the  same  crescent  seen  first  with  the  sinister  eye. 

After  a  few  nights,  however,  it  began  to  appear  again, — 
sometimes  faint  and  indistinct,  and  at  others  bright  and  lu- 
minous.    But  it  was  irregular  in  its  habits ;  now  coming 


34  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

every  night  for  a  week,  then  not  showing  itself  for  as  long  a 
time,  and  again  appearing  at  such  intervals  as  seemed  to 
please  its  capricious  temper. 

Their  neighbors,  from  the  first,  were  very  curious  to  know 
their  experience  with  these  incorporeal  beings ;  but  the  only 
answer  they  gave  to  the  question,  if  they  ever  saw  any 
ghosts,  was,  "  None  to  speak  of j"  or  "  None  to  hurt." 

Their  neighbors  increased  very  rapidly  around  them ;  for  it 
was  a  fine  region  of  country :  and,  after  the  war,  great  num- 
bers pushed  back  into  the  interior ;  and  at  the  end  of  a 
year,  instead  of  having  only  two  neighbors  within  a  dozen 
miles  of  them,  they  had  no  less  than  twenty.  They  all  knew 
the  strange  story  of  the  ghosts,  and  also  the  former  history 
of  Gault's  Hill,  or  Gomery  Hill  as  it  was  sometimes  called. 
As  a  general  rule,  however,  these  early  settlers  had  difficul- 
ties and  troubles  enough  of  their  own,  and  so  paid  little 
attention  to  those  of  their  neighbors.  Some  Scotch  emi- 
grants, however,  who  had  recently  come  from  that  country 
where  ghosts,  witches,  hobgoblins,  and  special  providences, 
were,  according  to  many  authentic  writers,  known  to  abound, 
were  not  disposed  to  let  our  friends  off  so  easily.  That  Rob- 
ert Gomery  and  his  wife  lived  in  that  haunted  house,  pros- 
pered, and  did  not  fear  the  ghosts,  was  conclusive  evidence 
that  they  were  in  league  with  the  Devil.  There  were  also 
some  others  of  a  similar  opinion,  honest  people  and  industri- 
ous, but  having  the  most  gloomy  religious  ideas ;  being  lineal 
descendants  of  those  zealous  bigots  of  which  Cotton  Mather 
was  a  bright  and  shining  light.  These  thought  something 
should  be  done ;  but,  as  there  was  no  law  by  which  they 
might  interfere,  they  only  counselled  together,  and  consid- 
ered what  course  ought  to  be  taken.  They  even  spoke  to 
Asa  Fisher,  and  admonished  him  to  beware  of  the  Gomery 
Family ;  for  they  surely  were  in  league  with  the  Prince  of  Evil, 
and  no  good  would  come  to  him  or  his  if  he  did  not  abjure 
their  friendship. 

But  Asa  answered  them  very  shortly:  "What  do  you 
know  against  Robert  Gomery?" 

"  Oh  !  we  know  nothing  against  him,  except  that  it  is  known 
he  has  dealings  with  the  Devil,"  said  one  of  his  Scotch  neigh- 
bors, who,  with  one  of  the  native-born  bigots,  had  called  to 
admonish  him.  "  We  believe  he  is  an  agent  of  the  Devil, 
and  that  he  will  have  his  part  with  the  wicked,  where  their 
worm  dieth  not,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched." 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  35 

"  I  am  sorry  for  him  if  that  is  so,"  said  Asa. 

"It  is  the  Lord's  will,  and  it  is  marvellous  in  our  eyes. 
The  wicked  shall  not  go  unpunished." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  is  so  ?  " 

"  Why,  man,  it  is  in  the  Scripter." 

"  Why !  there  are  various  opinions  about  what  the  Bible 
contains.  I  have  read  it  and  read  it,  till  I  almost  know  it  by 
heart ;  and  I  have  observed  that  people  make  up  their  mind 
what  ought  to  be  in  it,  and  then  find  it  there.  Now,  you  de- 
sire that  the  most  of  your  fellow-creatures  should  be  sent  to 
endless  torment." 

"  It  is  no  such  thing.  I  pray  every  night  that  they  may 
all  be  converted." 

"  And  think  as  you  do  ?  " 

"  And  think  as  I  do,  of  course  ;  for  mine  is  the  doctrine 
of  the  Holy  Scripter." 

"And  those  that  differ  from  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they  will  go  to  the  bad  place." 

"  And,  had  you  the  power,  would  you  save  them  from  so 
dreadful  a  fate?" 

"  Let  the  Lord's  will  be  done ;  and,  if  he  dooms  such  un- 
believers to  perdition,  shall  I  not  glorify  his  name  ?  " 

"  Yes :  I  see.  You  have  a  creed  that  accords  with  your 
own  wishes." 

"  It  is  not  so.  I  would  that  all  should  repent,  and  be  con- 
verted." 

"  But  do  you  call  yourself  wiser  or  better  than  your  Crea- 
tor?" 

"  I  should  blaspheme  to  do  it." 

"  Then  you  admit  you  would  do  as  you  believe  he  does. 
If  you  had  the  power  of  the  final  disposition  of  your  fellow- 
men,  you  would  send  the  most  of  them  to  eternal  woe,  for 
so  you  believe  the  God  you  worship  does ;  and,  if  you  say 
you  would  do  different  if  you  could,  you  say  that  you  are 
either  more  just  or  merciful  than  he.  Now,  I  don't  believe 
you  are ;  and  I  am  very  slow  to  trust  men  that  think  so  of 
themselves.  They  think  that  other  men  must  go  to  hell  be- 
cause they  desire  it.  Their  creed  is  an  index  of  their  minds. 
They  would  torture  men  in  this  life  for  not  agreeing  with 
them;  and,  when  they  find  they  can't  do  that,  they  console 
themselves  with  believing  that  they  are  to  be  miserable  for- 
ever in  the  next." 


36  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

"  Brother  McPherson,  I  think  we  had  better  go  :  there  is 
no  hope  of  such  a  godless  sinner  as  this." 

"There  wouldn't  be,  I  confess,"  said  Fisher,  "if  my  future 
state  was  to  be  left  to  the  mercy  of  such  merciless  zealots  as 
you  are.     But  it  is  not,  the  Lord  be  praised ! " 

With  this  last  expression,  the  door  of  Fisher's  house  closed 
on  his  visitors,  who,  as  soon  as  they  got  into  the  street,  be- 
gan between  themselves. 

"  Brother  Catlin,  I  am  sorry  I  ever  left  Scotland,  if  such 
abominable  doctrines  are  allowed." 

"  I  own  it  is  great  shame,  Brother  McPherson ;  but  what 
can  we  do  ?  The  people,  generally,  have  got  it  into  their 
heads  that  there  must  be  entire  religious  toleration;  and,  un- 
fortunately, the  people  rule." 

"  It  is  much  better  in  Scotland.  There,  if  a  man  is  an 
unbeliever,  we  contrive  to  ruin  him ;  and  he  hardly  knows 
how  it  is  done.  There  it  is  represented  as  the  Lord's  do- 
ings, and  has  a  blessed  influence  in  discouraging  non-con- 
formists and  infidels.  But  here  we  have  no  remedy.  It 
is  too  dangerous  trying  to  destroy  their  property.  We  can 
only  wait,  and  pray  that  no  mercy  may  be  shown  them  be- 
yond the  grave ;  and  you  know  the  prayers  of  the  righteous 
avail  much." 

"There  is  no  escape  for  such  as  this  man  Fisher,  and 
Gomery  too.  They  may  be  good  men  in  their  way,  —  may 
be  honest,  industrious,  and  moral ;  but  works  are  nothing : 
and  they  are  as  sure  to  have  the  fate  of  Dives  as  we  are  to 
have  that  of  Lazarus.  And,  I  am  sure,  I  feel  such  an  abhor- 
rence of  their  wicked  scepticism  and  unbelief,  that,  were  I  in 
heaven  and  they  in  hell,  they  would  have  to  call  a  long  time 
before  they  would  get  a  drop  of  water  from  me." 

Conversing  thus,  Catlin  and  McPherson  pursued  their 
way  to  their  respective  homes;  and  the  last  words  uttered  by 
McPherson,  as  they  parted,  were,  "  We  know  that  they  will 
catch  it  hereafter,  if  they  don't  here." 

"  That  is  our  hope  and  consolation,"  said  Catlin. 

But  time  wore  on ;  and,  in  the  changes  that  were  taking 
place,  people  forgot  to  trouble  themselves  about  the  ghosts 
of  Gault's  Hill.  Robert  Gomery  was  a  successful  man,  and 
prosperity  makes  friends.  He  was  liberal  and  easy  in  his 
dealings,  and  an  obliging  neighbor;  and,  as  his  good  will 
was  desired,  even  Brother  McPherson  and  Brother  Catlin 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  37 

ceased  to  talk  against  him  by  hinting  that  he  was  in  league 
with  the  Evil  One.  In  fact,  he  had  no  neighbors  more  willing 
than  they  to  help  out  at  a  corn-husking,  or  spend  a  social 
winter  evening,  after  a  sumptuous  supper,  succeeded  by  lib- 
eral potations  of  hot  rum-toddy.  But  they  never  would 
stay  till  the  hour  when  it  was  said  that  the  ghosts  ap- 
peared. 

Though  Gomery  had  got  possession  of  a  large  tract  of  the 
best  land  in  the  country,  and  had  a  goodly  space  cleared, 
and  was  prospering  beyond  his  first  expectations,  he  unex- 
pectedly found  that  his  purchase  was  far  more  valuable  than 
he  had  ever  supposed.  The  boundaries  of  his  land  being 
sought,  it  was  found,  that,  to  the  north-east,  it  extended 
not  only  the  whole  breadth  of  the  hill  to  the  base,  but 
about  forty  rods  beyond,  and  took  in  that  part  of  Salmon 
River  that  included  the  only  available  water-falls  in  its  course 
for  a  distance  of  twenty  miles.  He  was  thus  the  owner  of 
a  valuable  water-privilege  sufficient  to  run  all  the  mills  that 
would  be  required  in  that  vicinity  for  fifty  years. 

He  no  sooner  made  this  discovery  than  he  resolved  to 
profit  by  it ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  he  had  a  small  saw-mill 
erected  for  the  manufacture  of  boards  and  joists.  His 
neighbors  were  all  greatly  in  need  of  lumber ;  and,  as  money- 
was  a  very  scarce  commodity,  they  gave  their  labor  will- 
ingly ;  and  his  little  mill  was  able  to  do  enough  to  pay  for 
all  the  labor  that  he  could  profitably  employ.  Taking  ad- 
vantage of  their  necessities,  so  as  to  serve  himself  at  the 
same  time  he  benefited  his  neighbors,  he  built  himself  a 
new  house  upon  the  hill,  as  a  dwelling  for  his  increasing 
family.  A  boy  and  a  girl  had,  in  the  course  of  these  happy 
and  prosperous  years,  appeared  to  gladden  his  hearth ;  and, 
as  his  circumstances  would  justify  it,  he  resolved  that  he 
would  have  a  new,  large,  and  commodious  house  for  a 
dwelling,  instead  of  the  humble  log-house  that  had  been  so 
famous  for  years  as  the  scene  of  ghostly  visits. 

The  new  house  was  a  large  square  building,  two  stories 
high,  and  painted  white.  From  its  commanding  position,  it 
could  be  seen  at  a  great  distance  to  the  south  and  east ;  and, 
as  Gomery  had  become  the  most  important  man  in  the  vicin- 
ity, the  name  of  the  hill  was  gradually  changed  from  Mount 
Gault  to  Mount  Gomery.  The  transition  from  this  to  Mont- 
gomery was  natural  and  inevitable;  and  the  village  that 

4 


38  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

grew  up  at  the  Falls,  was,  by  general  consent,  at  first  called 
Montgomery's,  and  then  Montgomery.  Robert  continued 
to  live  on  the  hill,  however ;  and  as  the  name  "  Gomery," 
though  not  common,  had  other  claimants  in  the  country, 
Robert  Gomery  came  to  be  known,  among  all  the  people 
within  a  hundred  miles  of  him,  as  Gomery  of  Montgomery. 
The  new  house  was  painted  white,  and  loomed  up  so 
grandly,  that  it  could  be  seen  at  a  great  distance ;  and  Asa 
Fisher  called  it  Gomery's  Perch.  The  name  ever  after  at- 
tached to  the  house,  "  The  Perch,"  was  well  known  far  and 
near;  and  many  a  chance  traveller  who  had  there  found 
hospitality  and  welcome  remarked  that  it  was  rightly  named, 
for  it  always  offered  a  comfortable  place  in  which  to  roost. 

After  the  new  house  was  finished,  and  the  family  had 
moved  into  it,  the  old  log  structure  was  degraded  to  the 
humble  service  of  a  storehouse.  It  stood  in  the  rear  of  the 
new  house,  and  besides  being  a  receptacle  for  farming  tools, 
empty  casks  and  boxes,  and  discarded  or  broken  furniture, 
it  was  a  sort  of  rude  workshop,  with  a  bench,  and  such  car- 
penter's tools  as  were  required  to  make  yokes  and  bows, 
wood-sleds,  axle-trees,  and  such  other  utensils  as  economy 
and  convenience  required  should  be  made  upon  the  place. 
After  its  desertion  as  a  place  to  sleep  in,  it  was  not  known 
how  often  the  apparition  appeared.  Occasionally,  however, 
if  any  one  happened  to  be  stirring  at  the  "  ghost's  hour," 
as  it  was  called,  the  strange  sights  and  sounds  were  observed ; 
though,  oftener,  the  people  who  were  moving  about  the 
premises  at  midnight  observed  nothing. 

It  was  not  long  after  the  first  small  saw-mill  was  built  at 
what  was  now  called  Montgomery  Village,  before  its  profits, 
and  the  profits  of  the  hill-farm,  were  sufficient  to  enable  the 
proprietor  to  build  another  and  larger  mill,  —  one  that  could 
saw  not  only  boards  and  joists,  but  shingles  and  clapboards; 
and  the  succeeding  year  he  built  a  grist-mill  with  two  run  of 
stones,  and  the  year  after  put  up  a  wool-carding  machine 
and  fulling-mill.  He  was,  indeed,  a  thriving  man,  and  his 
prosperity  made  him  few  enemies ;  for  he  had  the  sense  to 
see  that  his  neighbors'  prosperity  was  his  own.  The  land  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  village  he  sold  out  in  alter- 
nate lots,  at  nominal  prices,  to  sober  and  industrious  me- 
chanics ;  knowing  that,  if  a  large  town  grew  up,  the  part  left 
to  him  would  be  worth  more  in  a  few  years  than  would  the 
whole  if  he  acted  the  part  of  the  dog  in  the  manger. 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  39 

For  all  these  changes,  however,  which  we  have  noticed,  a 
few  years  sufficed.  Though  the  country  was  fast  filling  up, 
yet  it  was  mostly  an  uncultivated  waste  still.  There  were 
many  small  clearings ;  but  the  openings  in  the  forest  were 
but  as  islands  in  the  sea  compared  with  the  broad  expanse  ■ 
of  unbroken  wilderness.  Robert  Gomery  had  the  best 
house  in  all  that  section,  the  best  farm,  and  the  largest 
clearing ;  and  yet  between  him  and  Asa  Fisher's  on  the  old 
road,  or  trail  (a  distance  of  four  and  a  half  miles),  there  was 
not  another  settler.  The  distance  from  the  house  on  the 
hill  to  the  village,  that  lay  in  a  different  direction,  was  only 
about  half  as  far;  and  the  only  carriage-road  between  the 
houses  of  the  two  pioneers  was  by  way  of  the  village,  being 
some  two  miles  farther  than  by  the  old  trail  that  Robert  had 
first  travelled  when  he  ascended  the  hill. 

If  Robert  Gomery  was  somewhat  inflated  at  his  own  suc- 
cess ;  if,  as  he  looked  out_  from  his  own  door  and  saw  the 
thriving  village  beneath  his  eye,  and  the  beautiful  country 
spread  out  before  him,  each  year  showing  more  signs  of 
wealth  and  cultivation,  he  looked  back,  and  thought  of  his 
early  struggles,  and  his  present  independence;  if  he  in- 
dulged in  reveries  of  how  he  would  be  such  a  benefactor  to 
all  the  people  in  his  neighborhood,  that,  by  and  by,  they 
should  send  him  to  Congress,  or  elect  him  Governor,  —  it  was 
an  ambition  and  a  vanity  not  to  be  despised,  but  rather  hon- 
ored; for,  in  all  his  plans  and  projects,  his  hope  was  to  be 
honored  for  the  good  he  had  done. 

His  neighbors  had  reason  to  respect  him,  and  he  deserved 
of  them  all  that  he  anticipated  from  them.  He  not  only 
sold  his  own  lots  in  the  village  very  cheap,  but  he  bought 
land  in  the  vicinity  for  cash,  and  sold  it  out,  on  long  credit 
and  at  very  low  interest,  to  such  settlers  as  he  knew  would 
be  useful  citizens.  He  never  inquired  into  the  politics  or 
religion  of  any  person  who  came  to  settle  near  Montgomery, 
and  this  caused  more  complaint  against  him  than  all  other 
causes  put  together;  for  though  he\did  not  profess  to  belong 
to  any  sect,  yet  the  members  of  each  thought  it  his  particu- 
lar duty  to  favor  their  own :  they  thought,  that  with  his 
wealth  and  influence,  if  he  would  encourage  only  settlers  of 
their  faith,  then,  in  a  short  time,  they  could  overshadow  the 
heretics.  The  immersionists  thought  that  with  his  aid  they 
could  drown  out  the  sprinklers ;  and  the  sprinklers  thought 


40  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

that  with  him  to  back  them  they  could  wither  up  the  im- 
mersionists.  But  he  would  not  take  sides;  and  then  the 
rigidly  righteous,  the  "unco  gude,"  began  to  hint  that  he 
was  no  better  than  an  infidel ;  but,  when  he  heard  of  it,  he 
said  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  persecute  in  order  to 
prove  that  he  was  a  Christian.  With  this  remark  he 
quietly  pursued  his  way,  and  left  those  more  sectarian  than 
he  to  fight  it  out  among  themselves. 

He  had  been  now  more  than  ten  years  on  the  place.  His 
worldly  goods  had  increased  wonderfully,  and  the  world  lay 
all  sunshine  before  him.  He  had,  as  we  have  said,  two  chil- 
dren, both  healthy,  robust,  and  promising.  The  elder  was  a 
boy ;  and  in  view  of  the  fact,  that,  unlike  his  father,  he  had 
been  born  under  a  free  government,  of  an  independent  coun- 
try, he  had  been  named  Freeborn.  He  had  made  no  claim 
to  attention  till  his  parents  had  been  three  years  in  the 
woods;  and  then  he  made  his  appearance,  and  was  gladly 
welcomed,  notwithstanding  the  trouble  he  caused.  A  sister 
appeared  two  years  later,  who  was  named  Eunice,  as  the 
name  signified  a  glorious  victory:  so  that,  at  the  time  to 
which  we  have  now  arrived,  the  boy  was  seven  and  the  girl 
five  years  old. 

The  harvest  had  been  gathered  in,  and  the  winter  had 
shut  down  upon  the  earth  with  its  thick  quilt  of  snow.  The 
earth  had  given  forth  abundantly;  and  Robert  Gomery 
found  it  necessary  to  go  to  Portland  to  attend  to  certain 
business  there  requiring  his  attention,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  take  to  market  a  load  of  farm-produce  which  he  wanted  to 
sell  for  such  groceries  and  other  necessaries  as  his  family  re- 
quired. He  accordingly  loaded  up  his  large  "pung"  with 
butter,  cheese,  lard,  and  the  carcasses  of  two  huge  hogs  that 
had  been  slaughtered  the  day  before  for  this  destination. 
The  affectionate  Huldah  had  put  up  for  him  a  large  round 
box  of  luncheon,  consisting  of  bread  and  butter,  sausages, 
cheese,  doughnuts,  and  Thanksgiving  mince-pies  more  liberal- 
ly stuffed  with  plums  than  was  the  famous  bag-pudding  whose 
fragments  were  so  economically  used  by  the  thrifty  queen  of 
good  King  Arthur.  The  children,  though  it  was  not  three 
o'clock  when  he  started,  were  up  to  see  him  off;  and  many 
commissions  did  they  give  him  to  execute  for  them  in  the 
purchase  of  toys  and  goodies.  Freeborn  had  the*  day  before 
secured  the  bladders  of  the  slaughtered  hogs;  and,  having  in- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  41 

flated  them  through  a  straw,  he  put  them  on  top  of  the  load, 
to  be  sold  in  payment  for  some  new  boots,  a  pair  of  skates,  a 
fur  cap,  cloth  for  some  new  clothes,  besides  sundry  other 
things  which  he  desired  should  be  bought  for  him.  His 
father  objected  to  taking  any  more  additional  load,  and  said, 
if  the  sleighing  were  not  good  for  the  whole  distance,  he 
would  be  obliged  to  throw  them  off. 

It  was  a  cold  raw  morning  when  he  started  ;  and  the  sleigh- 
ing was  such,  that  he  could  go  by  the  old  road,  or  Indian 
trail, — a  way  never  travelled  by  carriages.  This  was  a  saving 
of  a  good  bit  of  travel ;  but  as  it  was  seldom  travelled  now, 
except  by  travellers  from  a  distance,  who  had  no  object  in 
going  round  by  the  village,  it  had  never  been  made  a  high- 
way fit  for  wheels.  It  was  a  sort  of  road  for  travellers,  on 
foot  or  on  horseback,  who  were  passing  through  from  the 
seacoast  to  the  North ;  and  Gomery  of  Montgomery's  became 
known  for  a  long  distance  as  a  resting-place  by  the  way- 
side, where  the  rich  and  poor  alike  found  an  honest  Yankee 
welcome,  a  bountiful  repast,  a  warm  bed,  and  no  charge  for 
the  entertainment. 

The  ground  had  been  frozen  solid  before  the  snow  had 
fallen ;  and,  with  the  snow  now  on  the  ground,  the  sleighing 
was  perfect.  The  crisp,  eager  air  seemed  to  stimulate  the 
stout  horses ;  and  Gomery  frisked  over  the  road  at  a  rate  that 
surprised  him.  He  had  gone  full  twenty  miles  before  he 
saw  the  first  light  in  any  house  that  he  passed ;  and  even  this 
one  was  seen  before  the  first  gleam  of  dawn  appeared  in  the 
east. 

Oh !  it  was  glorious  sleigh-riding  in  those  brave  days  of  old, 
when  the  weather  was  cold,  the  snow  not  too  deep,  and  the 
air  clear  and  nipping ;  when  there  were  only  sleighs  enough 
on  the  highways  to  make  the  roads  smooth,  and  not  enough 
to  cut  through  into  the  sand  and  earth  beneath.  How  fleetly 
the  honest  Morgans  skimmed  over  the  hills,  and  along  the 
valleys !  and  how  merrily  the  great  heavy  bells  jingled!  How 
laughingly  the  hills  echoed  back  their  jocund  sound!  Alas! 
those  days  are  gone  ;  and  now,  if  we  would  ride  in  a  sleigh,  it 
is  to  the  music  of  tea-table  bells,  and  over  roads  where  the 
snow  clings  tenaciously,  but  vainly,  for  precedence  with  the 
sand  and  gravel. 

As  Robert  Gomery  moved  so  briskly  over  the  hills,  he  in- 
dulged in  many  pleasing  reveries,  —  now  thinking  of  the 

4* 


42  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

honors  that  the  people  ere  long  would  thrust  upon  him,  and 
now  imagining  the  expressions  and  surprise  of  Freeborn 
and  Eunice  when  he  should  produce  before  them  the  numer- 
ous toys  and  gimcracks  that  he  intended  purchasing  for  them. 
Certainly  the  latter  picture  was  the  more  pleasant  to  con- 
template; and  the  sweet  home-thoughts  soon  drove  his  ambi- 
tious schemes  quite  out  of  his  head,  and  he  glided  along  sing- 
ing snatches  of  war-songs  and  "pennirial"  hymns,  mixing 
them  in  sandwich  fashion  as  they  flew  up  from  his  merry 
heart  to  his  trolling  tongue.  The  sun  at  last  showed  his  face, 
but  so  white  and  pale  as  if  ashamed  of  himself  for  his  weak- 
ness in  allowing  the  winter  to  rule  so  absolutely  in  spite  of 
him.  When  he  first  showed  his  head,  the  air  was  clear  and 
transparent :  but,  as  if  in  contempt  of  his  power,  a  haze  soon 
began  to  overspread  the  earth  ;  and  by  nine  o'clock,  though 
be  could  be  seen  in  his  place  in  the  heavens,  his  appearance 
was  rather  that  of  a  broad,  bright  shield,  than  as  the  god  of 
day.  In  a  little  while  he  could  hardly  be  seen  at  all ;  and  by 
eleven  o'clock  he  was  completely  obscured,  and  there  was 
every  appearance  of  another  snow-storm.  But  no  snow  fell 
that  day ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  next  morning,  at  about  nine 
o'clock,  that  one  of  those  storms  set  in,  that,  from  the  start, 
show  that  the  gusty  old  gentlemen  is  in  earnest.  The  flakes 
were  fierce,  round,  and  scattering  at  first,  and  the  air  sharp  and 
biting.  Gradually  they  grew  larger,  the  sky  darker,  and  the 
air  softer;  and,  in  a  couple  of  hours,  the  snow  was  filling  fast 
and  furious,  and  rapidly  filling  up  the  road,  so  as  to  cause  the 
load  to  drag  heavily  on  the  stout  team.  But  Gomery  of 
Montgomery  still  pushed  on,  and,  before  night  of  the  second 
day,  had  reached  his  destination,  sold  his  load,  made  his 
purchases,  transacted  all  his  other  business,  and  was  ready 
to  return.  In  the  morning,  therefore,  notwithstanding  the 
storm  still  kept  up,  though  at  a  more  moderate  rate,  he  de- 
termined to  start  for  home,  in  spite  of  hard  roads  and  stormy 
weather.  Bad  as  the  roads  were,  and  deep  as  was  the  snow, 
he  thought  it  would  be  easier  getting  along  than  after  the 
storm  had  abated,  and  the  inevitable  nor'-wester  set  in.  So 
he  set  forth,  his  load  but  little  lighter  than  when  he  came  in ; 
for,  in  exchange  for  his  farm-produce,  he  had  laid  in  a  supply 
of  salt,  sugar,  tea,  coffee,  molasses,  and  other  things  wanted 
at  home,  not  forgetting  Freeborn's  skates,  and  various  other 
trinkets  and  kickshaws. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY. 


43 


But  though  he  urged  forward  his  horses  through  the  day 
with  unusual  cuts  of  the  whip,  and  walked  beside  the  sleigh 
for  the  most  of  the  way,  he  found  the  darkness  closing  down 
upon  him  by  the  time  he  got  to  the  Cross-roads  Tavern, 
twenty  miles  from  town.  He  therefore  stopped  for  the  night 
at  the  inn ;  and  the  next  morning  the  storm  had  ceased,  and 
the  wind  was  blowing  the  snow  wildly  about,  piling  up  large 
drifts  in  some  places,  and  sweeping  other  long  reaches  bare 
as  before  the  storm.  Yet,  nothing  daunted,  he  set  forth  so 
soon  as  he  saw  the  farmers  living  on  the  road  pass  by  with 
their  heavy  ox-teams  for  the  purpose  of  tramping  down  the 
snow,  and  making  the  roads  passable  for  loads. 

The  second  night  after  leaving  the  Cross-roads  Tavern,  by 
hard  driving,  Gomery  reached  the  house  of  his  last  neighbor 
on  the  direct  or  shortest  road  to  his  house.  This  was  the 
house  of  his  old  friend  Fisher ;  not  a  log-cabin  as  of  yore,  but 
a  comfortable  frame-house,  lathed  and  plastered,  shingled 
and  clapboarded.  Since  the  last  storm,  no  one  had  passed 
over  the  old  road  by  the  Indian  trail;  and  he  could  not 
think  of  pushing  his  jaded  team  that  night  over  the  longer 
route  by  the  village.  The  last  day  had  been  very  hard  on 
the  horses,  and  it  was  only  after  much  coaxing  and  whipping 
that  he  was  able  to  reach  *Fisher's  house.  To  Fisher's  offer, 
therefore,  to  put  up  his  team  in  his  barn  for  the  night,  he 
willingly  assented;  but,  to  the  invitation  to  stop  himself, 
he  gave  a  flat  refusal. 

The  night  was  stinging  sharp.  "The  owl,  for  all  his  feath- 
ers, was  a-cold."  The  cattle  and  horses  stood  curled  and 
humped  up  in  their  stalls,  and  the  air  in  the  red  west  seemed 
to  sparkle  and  shimmer  with  the  frost. 

"It  is  a  bitter  night,  neighbor,"  said  Fisher.  "The  frost 
has  not  been  so  thick  on  the  windows  any  night  this  winter. 
You  had  better  stay,  and  go  round  by  the  village  in  the 
morning.  At  any  rate,  let  us  have  supper,  and  then  you 
will  think  better  of  it." 

But  he  even  refused  to  partake  of  the  ample  supper  now 
spread  upon  the  board. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  he.  "  There  is  a  supper  waiting  for  me  at 
home,  and  anxious  eyes  are  watching.  I  warrant  you  there 
has  not  been  a  sound  heard  outside  of  the  house  for  two 
nights  but  Freeborn  and  Eunice  have  run  to  look  for 
me.    They  went  crying  to  bed  last  night ;  and  to-night  there 


44  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

will  be  older  eyes  than  theirs  crying,  if  I  don't  get  home." 
So  throwing  off  his  outside  and  heaviest  overcoat,  that  it 
might  not  impede  his  walking,  he  prepared  to  sally  forth. 

"You  had  better  keep  on  your  overcoat,"  said  Fisher. 
"You  will  need  it." 

"  I  have  got  one  on  now ;  and  I  have  no  fear  but  I  shall  be 
warm  enough,  breaking  my  way  through  the  snow.  Good- 
night !  I  will  send  one  of  the  hired  men  early  in  the  morn- 
ing for  the  team."  With  that  he  passed  out,  and  took  his 
way  towards  his  home. 

Robert  Gomery  had  not  been  mistaken  in  supposing  that 
anxious  eyes  were  on  the  lookout  for  him.  He  had  been 
gone  a  day  beyond  the  alloted  time;  and  the  affectionate 
Huldah  was  getting  uneasy  about  him,  though  she  well 
knew  the  deep  snow  must  keep  him  back  for  a  considerable 
time.  The  children  were  excessively  impatient  for  his  re- 
turn, and  had  gone  reluctantly  to  bed  for  the  last  two  nights. 
This  night,  however,  they  were  resolute  to  see  him,  and  with 
many  tears  protested  that  they  could  not  sleep  till  he  re- 
turned; and  it  was  a  full  hour  beyond  their  usual  time  before 
their  mother  could  persuade  them  to  their  beds  by  promises 
that  they  should  be  called  when  he  came.  But  their  strange 
anxiety  imparted  itself  to  her;  and,  for  some  reason  (she 
could  hardly  tell  why),  she  became  very  nervrous  and  anx- 
ious. Several  times  during  the  evening  she  required  the 
two  farm-laborers  to  go  out,  and  look  and  listen  for  him. 
She  supposed,  of  course,  that  he  would  come  by  way  of  the 
village,  as  the  other  road  had  not  been  broken  out  since  the 
great  storm. 

It  was  past  nine  o'clock,  and  there  were  no  signs  of  the 
good  man.  The  voice  of  little  Eunice  was  heard  calling  from 
her  truckle-bed  in  the  next  room,  saying  she  heard  a  noise 
outside. 

At  that,  one  of  the  men,  called  Linus,  went  out  again  to 
look.  He  soon  returned,  saying  it  was  only  the  old  Indian 
who  was  sleeping  out  in  the  old  house. 

"  Who  is  that  old  Indian  I  have  seen  about  for  the  last 
two  or  three  days  ?  "  asked  Huldah. 

"  I  don't  know  who  he  is,"  replied  Linus.  "  Chesley  and  I 
were  at  work  in  the  old  house  the  day  the  storm  begun.  I 
was  making  a  yoke,  and  Chesley  was  making  the  bows,  when 
the  door  opened,  and  that  awful-looking  critter  stood  at  the 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  45 

door.  He  'peared  to  be  almost  froze  to  death.  He  never 
said  a  word,  but  came  right  in,  and  lay  down  by  the -fire  like 
a  dog.  He  shivered  so,  that  I  was  a-feared  he'd  die ;  and  Ches- 
ley  came  in,  and  got  him  a  glass  of  hot  grog.  I  guess  he 
wanted  a  drink  himself.  The  old  fellow,  when  he  see  the 
grog,  catched  it,  bilin'  hot  as  it  was,  and  swallowed  it  at  a 
gulp;  and  then  lay  down,  and  went  to  sleep.  When  he  was 
asleep,  we  looked  at  him  hard ;  and  never  in  all  my  life  did  I 
see  so  pitiable  an  object.  He  was  thin  and  black  and  hag- 
gard ;  and  one  leg  had  been  broken  and  grown  together,  so 
that  the  heel  of  the  right  foot  pointed  right  into  the  hollow 
of  the  left.  When  he  waked  up,  Freeborn  and  Eunice  were 
both  out  there,  and  he  looked  amazing  curis  at  them.  Jest 
then  Chesley  took  off  the  big  kettleful  of  potatoes  biled  for 
the  hogs ;  and  he  snatched  one  of  'em  right  out  of  the  kettle, 
and  eat  it  down  as  if  he  was  starved." 

"  I  think  he  is  cold  out  there  to-night,"  said  Chesley.  "  I 
asked  him  if  he  wasn't  last  night,  and  he  said  '  No ; '  but  it 
is  a  great  deal  colder  to-night." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  would  go  and  get  some  of  those  old 
blankets  and  the  old  buffalo,  and  carry  out  to  him,"  said  Hul- 
dah.  "  It  is  a  pity  he  should  suffer  when  we  have  clothes 
enough." 

Chesley  did  as  he  was  requested ;  and,  while  he  was  away, 
Huldah  spoke  up  again,  and  said,  — 

"  Why  did  not  you  send  into  the  house  and  get  some  good 
victuals,  and  not  let  him  eat  only  pigs'  food  ?  " 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  coming  at.  When  Freeborn  see 
him  catch  at  the  potato  so,  he  run  into  the  house,  and  got  a 
great  plate  of  beef  and  pork  and  bread  and  cabbage  and 
turnips,  and  gave  'em  to  him ;  and  he  eat  it  all.  We  asked 
him  a  great  many  questions ;  but  he  would  not  answer  a 
word." 

"  I  think  that  old  Indian  is  crazy,"  said  Chesley,  coming  in 
again  after  having  taken  out  to  him  the  bed-clothes  as  or- 
dered. 

"  Why  ?  what  tantrums  is  he  in  now  ?  "  inquired  Linus. 

"They  are  coming  to-night,"  says  he;  "the  angels  are 
weeping;"  and  I  says,  "Who  is  coming?  and  what  angels?" 
and  at  that  he  drew  his  finger  across  his  throat,  and  laughed 
like  a  devil,  and  pointed  his  finger  toward  the  spring. 

"  Ah,  well !  'tis  some  old  Indian  who  has  heard  the  stories 
that  they  used  to  tell  about  ghosts  on  this  hill." 


46  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

"  Oh,  yes !  he  said  he  had  been  here  before,"  said  Linus. 
"First  he  would  answer  nothing.  But  yesterday,  when  I 
took  the  rum-bottle  out  for  me  and  Chesley  to  take  some- 
thing, I  gave  him  a  swig.  I  put  the  bottle  down  in  a  corner, 
and  he  got  hold  of  and  drinkt  it  every  drop.  It  was  every 
drop  there  was  in  the  house,  and  we  sha'n't  have  any  more 
till  Mr.  Gomery  gets  back.  Fort'nate,  that'll  be  soon.  Well, 
after  he  had  got  all  that  rum  down  his  neck,  he  began  to 
mutter  something ;  and  I  asked  him  if  he  was  ever  here  be- 
fore. He  said,  'Yes.'  'How  many  years  ago?'  'Fourteen.' 
«  Who  lived  here  then  ? '  « Gault,'  said  he.  « What ! '  says  I, 
4  were  you  one  of  them  Indians  that  murdered  him  ?'  He  only 
said,  '  Ugh ; '  and  that  might  mean  any  thing  or  nothing.  Fi- 
nally Chesley  asked  him  if  he  knew  whether  or  no  that  child 
was  dead  or  alive ;  and  then  he  looked  up,  shook  his  head, 
and  passed  his  finger  across  his  throat,  as  much  as  to  say 
how  it  had  been  killed.  Then  he  laughed,  and  looked  so 
devilish,  I  should  have  thought  he  was  the  Devil  himself,  if 
he  had  only  had  a  split  foot,  instead  of  one  turned  wrong 
side  out." 

At  this  time,  the  voice  of  Eunice  was  heard  calling  from 
her  bed-room  for  the  second  time.  She  had  heard  papa's 
voice ;  and  Freeborn  said  he  had  heard  it  too,  and  it  was  in 
the  direction  of  the  old  trail.  Again  they  all  listened;  and 
this  time  they  went  to  the  door,  and  stood  till  the  cold 
drove  them  in.  They  cast  their  eyes  along  the  old  road ;  but 
the  snow  lay  deep,  stiff,  and  hard,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  a 
track  in  that  direction.  Of  course,  he  would  not  come  that 
way :  and  so  they  strained  their  eyes  and  ears  to  catch  some 
sign  from  the  village  road  ;  and  Chesley  walked  down  in  that 
direction  for  half  a  mile,  and,  seeing  nothing  of  living 
beings,  returned.  Then  they  waited  for  a  few  minutes 
longer ;  when  Freeborn  came  running  out  in  his  night-clothes, 
saying  he  knew  he  had  heard  his  father  calling ;  and  he  begged 
that  he  might  be  dressed,  and  go  and  search  for  him.  Then 
all  went  to  the  door  again,  and  looked.  But  no  sound  was 
heard ;  and  though  the  sharp,  biting  air  was  so  clear  and  cold, 
that  the  bright  starlight,  falling  on  the  crisp  snow,  glittering 
back  the  diamond  light  from  its  myriads  of  crystal  particles, 
enabled  them  to  peer  far  into  the  distance,  yet  no  moving 
thing  was  to  be  seen. 

Eleven  o'clock  came ;  and,  as  nothing  more  was  heard,  they 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  47 

thought  it  useless  to  sit  up  later.  The  hired  men  were  dis- 
missed to  their  rest ;  and  Huldah,  as  usual,  went  to  look  at 
her  children  before  retiring  for  the  night.  Neither  of  them 
was  asleep  yet ;  but  both  were  intently  listening  for  the  sounds 
which  they  said  they  had  again  heard.  Their  mother  was 
uneasy,  but,  assuming  a  bold  heart,  told  the  children  they 
must  be  mistaken,  and,  carefully  tucking  the  clothes  around 
them,  bade  them  go  to  sleep.  But  she  herself  had  hardly  laid 
her  head  upon  her  pillow,  when  she  fancied  she  heard  a 
sound  as  of  some  one  hallooing ;  and  at  that  instant  the  two 
children  jumped  up  in  their  beds,  saying  they  had  heard  it 
again.  Huldah  arose  again  instantly,  and,  partially  dressing 
herself,  went  to  the  chamber-door,  and  called  out  to  the  men 
to  come  down,  and  again  go  out  and  look;  for  she  was  sure 
she  had  heard  some  one  calling  outside.  Incredulous,  yet 
good-natured,  they  both  came  down,  and  again  went  out  into 
the  cold,  dark  night.  They  walked  some  distance  down  the 
road  towards  the  village,  and,  as  they  were  returning,  saw  a 
bright  light  gleaming  from  the  window  of  the  old  house. 

"  By  George !  "  said  Linus,  "  I  b'leve  the  old  Indian  has  set 
the  old  ark  a-fire."  In  an  instant,  however,  it  was  dark  as 
ever;  and  instantly  they  heard  a  noise  as  of  the  discharge 
of  fire-arms.  "  By  hokey !  I  guess  the  devil  is  to  pay  to- 
night," said  Chesley. 

"  That  was  nothing  but  the  cracking  of  the  ice  on  the 
river." 

"  But  we  never  hear  the  ice  crack  on  the  river  way  up 
here." 

"  It  is  a  very  cold,  still  night ;  and  it  is  possible." 

As  they  approached  the  old  house,  they  saw  the  figure  of 
the  old  Indian  limping  away,  and  in  the  same  direction 
heard  a  strange  noise. 

"  Come  back,  old  man ! "  said  Chesley.  "  What  are  you 
going  off  now  for  ?  You  will  freeze  to  death  before  morn- 
ing." 

But  the  old  cripple  limped  away,  answering  never  a  word 
to  them ;  but  still  the  sound  kept  up  in  that  direction. 

"  That  is  a  queer  noise  for  an  old  man,"  said  Linus. 

"It  sounds  more  like  a  scared  baby,"  answered  Chesley. 

When  they  entered  the  house  again,  they  asked  Huldah  if 
she  had  seen  the  light  in  the  old  house. 

"  Certainly  I  did,"  she  replied.     "  I  have  seen  it  a  hun- 


48  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

dred  times  before,  though  not  once  for  I  don't  know  how 
long." 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  it  ?  "  asked  Linus. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  it,"  said  she ;  and  the  men,  con- 
fused and  astonished,  again  went  to  their  beds. 

"Mind  you,"  said  Huldah,  as  a  parting  injunction,  "get  up 
early  in  the  morning,  and  one  of  you  go  down  to  the  village, 
and  see  what  that  noise  was  about ; "  and  with  these  last 
words  she  again  retired,  and  fell  asleep. 

The  next  morning,  before  the  first  gleam  of  daylight  could 
be  seen,  Linus  was  up,  and  on  his  way  to  the  village,  for  what 
he  hardly  knew.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  going  on  a 
foolish  errand,  —  one  implying  that  Gomery  of  Montgomery 
did  not  know  enough  to  take  care  of  himself;  and  couldn't  find 
his  way  home.  But  somehow  he  felt  that  something  had 
gone  wrong ;  and  so  he  pushed  on  at  a  quick  trot,  it  being 
necessary  to  move  briskly  to  keep  from  freezing.  It  was  the 
coldest  morning,  he  thought,  he  had  ever  known ;  and,  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  village,  his  congealed  breath  had  collected 
on  his  eyebrows,  on  his  locks  and  whiskers,  and  on  the  up- 
turned collar  of  his  coat,  so  that  he  looked  like  Winter  per- 
sonified. 

There  was  but  one  store  in  Montgomery  at  this  time,  and 
this  was  the  principal  place  of  public  resort.  It  was  kept  by 
a  thrifty  young  speculating  tradesman,  named  Springer ;  and 
he  was  just  opening  his  place  when  Linus  arrived. 

"  Halloo,  Linus ! "  said  the  shopman  :  "  you  are  out  early 
this  morning.  What  has  Jbrought  you  here  at  this  time  o' 
day,  such  a  morning  as  this  ?  " 

"The-rum  jug  gin  out,  for  one  thing." 

"  What !  hasn't  Gomery  got  back  yet  ?  " 

"  No :  hasn't  he  got  along  this  fur  ?  "  anxiously  inquired 
Linus. 

"  This  fur !  That's  a  pretty  question.  It's  likely  he  would 
stop  here,  ain't  it  ?  " 

Linus  felt  that  he  had  come  on  a  fool's  errand,  and  so  said 
he  wanted  a  small  jug  of  New-England  rum  to  last  till  the 
old  man  got  home.  With  this,  having  first  taken  a  warming 
draught  to  sustain  him,  he  set  forth  on  his  way  back  to  the  Hill. 
Huldah  anxiously  awaited  his  return,  though  really  unexpec- 
tant  of  any  good  news.  Freeborn  and  Eunice  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  their  anxiety  of  the  night  before,  and  were 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  49 

busily  engaged  in  playing  at  hauling  wood,  with  a  chair  for  a 
bob-sled,  and  Eunice  for  oxen.  She  was  Star  and  Buck, 
Lineback  and  Golden,  to  the  youthful  teamster.  Huldah, 
when  Linus  returned  with  no  tidings,  was  convinced  that 
the  sounds  she  had  heard  were  connected  with  the  old  tra- 
ditional sights  and  cries  that  had  been  heard  every  night  on 
the  Hill  for  so  long  after  the  Gault  murder ;  and,  feeling  easier, 
told  the  men  to  go  about  their  work. 

That  day  an  unusual  number  of  the  villagers  was  collected 
at  the  store  of  Job  Springer.  Job  always  kept  a  good  fire  ; 
and,  as  it  was  so  cold  that  few  people  could  face  it  by  work- 
ing out  of  doors,  many  gathered  in  there  as  a  place  where 
all  had  an  equal  right.  They  amused  themselves  by  talking 
over  the  meagre  news  of  the  day,  telling  stories,  chewing 
and  smoking  tobacco,  and  occasionally  indulging  in  a  glass 
of  rum.  It  was  about  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  company  were 
discussing  the  cold  weather ;  and  various  reasons  were  given 
for  regarding  the  night  before  as  the  coldest  ever  known  in 
that  vicinity.  One  of  the  company,  Tisdale  Abbott,  gave  as 
a  proof  of  it,  that  some  rum  he  carried  home  the  night  be- 
fore was  found  frozen  solid  in  the  morning,  and  he  had  never 
had  that  happen  to  him  before. 

"  No,"  said  Job,  who  felt  the  strength  of  his  rum  called  in 
question :  "  I  presume  you  never  did,  and  for  the  good  reason 
that  you  never  kept  any  rum  over  night  before." 

This  caused  a  hearty  laugh  at  Tisdale's  expense,  as  he  was 
known  to  be  a  man  that  never  drank  spirituous  liquors  of 
any  kind.  The  laugh  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a 
stranger  who  had  driven  up  to  the  door,  who,  having  covered 
his  horse  with  a  bed-quilt,  entered  the  store  to  warm  him- 
self externally  by  the  fire,  and  internally  with  a  glass  of 
"  black-strap."  He  had  previously  stopped  on  his  way  at 
Asa  Fisher's,  and  there  learned  that  Gomery  of  Montgomery 
had  arrived  there  the  night  before,  and  left  his  team;  going 
home  on  foot  by  the  old  road.  This  fact  came  out  incident- 
ally as  he  was  sipping  his  glass  of  hot  water,  rum,  and  mo- 
lasses. 

"  That  couldn't  be,"  said  Springer ;  "  for  one  of  his  men 
was  here,  and  inquired  for  him  early  this  morning." 

"  Yes  :  it  was  so ;  for  I  see  his  pung  standin'  at  the  door, 
full  of  things  he  had  got  down  below." 

5 


50  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

"By  golly!  then  he's  froze  to  death,"  said  Abijah  Kim- 
ball, jumping  from  his  seat. 

Every  man  sprang  up  instantly  at  this  exclamation ;  for  the 
probability  of  its  truth  flashed  instantly  on  every  mind. 

There  was  little  more  said.  Tisdale  Abbott  flew  to  his 
own  house,  and,  taking  his  black  mare  from  the  stable,  har- 
nessed her,  with  immense  celerity,  to  the  sleigh  ;  and  when 
his  wife  came  out  to  the  door,  and  saw  him  driving  furiously 
away,  she  called  out  to  know  what  the  matter  was.  Tisdale 
imagined  rather  than  heard  her  question,  and  screamed  in 
reply,  as  he  whizzed  past  the  door,  the  tears  rolling  down  his 
rough,  honest  cheeks,  "  Gomery  of  Montgomery  is  froze  to 
death ! "  A  quick  switch  or  two  across  the  flanks  of  his 
gamy  little  mare,  and,  in  a  moment,  he  is  back  to  the 
store.  Two  others  of  the  company  jump  into  the  sleigh ;  and 
the  little  mare  is  put  into  a  canter  that  she  is  scarce  allowed 
to  break  till  she  stopped,  puffing  and  panting,  at  the  door  of 
Asa  Fisher.  The  rest  of  the  company  followed  on, — some  in 
sleighs,  and  some  on  foot.  No  one  felt  the  cold  now ;  for, 
though  they  had  started  off  without  staying  for  overcoats  or 
other  extra  protection  from  the  cold,  the  news  they  had 
heard  sent  the  blood  coursing  so  livelily  through  their  veins, 
that  no  idea  of  cold  was  suggested  to  them. 

Asa  and  his  wife,  and  all  his  children,  were  at  their  mid- 
day meal  when  they  saw  the  sleigh  drive  up ;  and,  observing 
through  the  window  the  excited  countenances  of  the  pas- 
sengers, all  hurried  to  the  door,  Asa  calling  out,  — 

"  What,  what,  what's  this  ?  " 

"  Was  Gomery  of  Montgomery  here  last  night?"  said  Tis- 
dale, though  the  well-known  sleigh  at  the  door  rendered  his 
question  superfluous. 

"  Yes :  he  left  here  last  night  at  about  eight  o'clock  to  go 
home  by  the  old  road." 

"  He's  froze  to  death ! " 

These  were  all  strong  men,  inured  to  life  in  its  roughest, 
rudest  form ;  but  there  was  not  a  diy  eye  among  them.  Fish- 
er's children  broke  out  crying  aloud,  and  his  wife  joined  in 
the  melancholy  wail. 

Asa  put  on  his  old  cap  and  mittens,  and  told  them  to  follow 
him.  It  was  idle  to  think  of  going  through  the  snow  on  the 
old  road  with  a  horse ;  and  they  set  forth  on  foot,  running  and 
pushing  by  each  other  in  their  haste  to  get  over  the  ground. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  51 

They  were  closely  followed  by  others  who  had  pursued  hard 
after  them  from  the  village ;  and,  by  the  time  they  had  got  a 
mile  from  Fisher's,  there  were  a  dozen  in  the  company. 

The  track  of  Gomery  was  the  only  one  in  the  road ;  and 
they  followed  it  for  about  two  miles,  when  they  observed  a 
place  where  he  had  apparently  stopped,  and  leaned  against  a 
tree.  After  this  the  steps  seemed  irregular,  and  showed  that 
he  had  stopped  frequently.  The  pursuers  pushed  on  till 
they  came  to  within  less  than  a  mile  from  the  house,  and 
they  could  see  the  road  for  half  a  mile  directly  before  them, 
and  there  were  no  signs  of  him  to  be  seen.  Tbey  now  began 
to  hope  that  he  had  got  through  alive,  and  was  at  last  safe 
at  home ;  but  just  as  they  were  making  the  last  turn  that 
shut  out  the  house  from  their  view,  and  the  tall  edifice  loomed 
full  on  their  sight  before  them,  they  passed  an  immense  birch 
that  stood  close  to  the  road.  There  the  track  came  to  an 
end ;  for  sitting  on  the  closely  packed  snow,  on  the  upper 
side  of  the  tree,  was  Gomery  of  Montgomery,  frozen  to  death. 
His  eyes  looked  as  clear  and  bright  as  ever ;  for  they  had 
doubtless  been  frozen  in  their  sockets,  as,  with  a  spasmodic 
effort  to  throw  off  the  overpowering  drowsiness,  they  opened 
to  gaze  on  the  light  that  beamed  through  the  windows  of 
his  own  home. 


52  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"  Whip  me,  ye  devils, 
From  the  possession  of  this  heavenly  sight  I 
Blow  me  about  in  winds  !  roast  me  in  sulphur! 
Wash  me  in  steep-down  gulfs  of  liquid  fire  I  "  —  Othello. 

The  terrible  death  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery  caused  the 
strange  appearance,  the  mysterious  behavior,  and  the  still 
more  mysterious  departure,  of  the  old  Indian  to  be,  for  a 
time,  unthought  of.  He  had  been  mentioned  at  the  break- 
fast-table the  morning  after  his  disappearance ;  but  as  strag- 
gling Indians  were  not  rare  in  those  days,  and  were  erratic 
and  peculiar  in  their  movements,  he  was  dismissed  as  an  od- 
dity, and  not  thought  of  again  for  a  long  time. 

There  was  sad  wailing  in  the  house,  when,  looking  forth 
from  the  window,  Huldah  Gomery  saw  a  dozen  men  ap- 
proaching laboriously  through  the  snow,  bearing  in  their 
arms  the  stark-stiff  body  of  her  husband. 

The  dead  was  buried  in  time ;  and  save  that  the  master's 
hand  was  no  more  visible,  and  sorrow  reigned  instead  of  joy, 
every  thing  went  on  as  regularly  as  before  the  fatal  night. 

The  Indian  had  been  over  the  same  ground  before.  On 
that  occasion,  he  was  one  of  a  party  who  had  escaped  from 
a  sharp  action  in  the  East  between  a  party  of  Arnold's  men 
and  a  body  of  Indians,  Canadians,  and  English,  which,  under 
a  certain  Col.  Cumberland,  an  officer  of  high  repute  in  his 
Britannic  majesty's  service,  had  been  surprised  and  cut  to 
pieces,  to  the  great  mortification  of  the  commanding  officer. 
He  had  barely  escaped  alive  with  a  dozen  of  his  English  vet- 
erans, together  with  about  thirty  Indians,  whom  he  had  be- 
guiled with  large  promises  of  blankets,  fire-water,  and  scalps, 
from  their  own  hunting-grounds  farther  west.  Col.  Cum- 
berland not  only  stood  high  as  an  officer  of  enterprise  and 
daring,  but  he  was  a  scion  of  one  of  the  blood  aristocracy. 
The  name  of  his  ancestor  was  to  be  found  in  Domesday  Book ; 
and  the  family  history  was  checkered  by  many  acts  of  cour- 
age and  loyalty.     He  was  a  man  of  excessive  pride,  and  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  53 

boundless  ambition.  He  had  not  only  an  unbending  will, 
but  a  will  that  never  bent.  Like  all  men,  he  could  be  con- 
quered or  killed ;  but  in  his  will  and  purpose  he  never  gave 
way :  his  temperament  and  education  alike  forbade  it.  And  , 
yet,  for  all  this,  he  had  been  surprised  by  a  company  of  rag- 
ged, shoeless,  Yankee  recruits,  and  his  force  destroyed ;  and 
he  was  now  making  his  way  back  to  meet  his  superior,  and 
report  his  own  defeat.  His  contempt  for  the  Yankees  was 
now  changed  into  inveterate,  unquenchable,  remorseless  hate. 
He  could  never  know  them  more  but  as  vermin,  deserving 
only  of  extermination.  The  younger  of  two  sons  of  an 
English  nobleman,  he  made  up  in  pride  for  his  lack  of  heri- 
tage, and  had  quarrelled  with  his  family  over  his  father's 
grave.  Subsequently,  however,  he  had  married  an  heiress  of 
more  rank  than  beauty,  and  more  wealth  than  either.  She 
was  the  last  in  the  line  of  a  great  name,  and  of  vast  estates 
that  fell  to  her  and  the  heirs  of  her  body,  and  which,  in 
case  they  lapsed,  would  go  to  a  distant,  unknown,  and  de- 
spised branch  of  the  family.  If  he  was  unscrupulous  in  the 
means  he  took  for  gaining  his  ends,  it  followed  as  a  part  of 
his  character.  In  his  mind,  it  was  right  for  him  to  do  any  act 
that  would  advance  his  interests.  His  moral  perception 
went  no  farther.  His  wife  he  had  married  from  interest,  and 
with  no  pretence  of  love ;  but  she  had  turned  to  him  with  a 
singleness  of  devotion  and  sacrificing  regard,  that  showed  too 
well  that  she  had  never  won  by  personal  charms  the  affection 
her  heart  coveted.  His  great,  immediate  ambition  was,  by 
means  of  his  own  energy  and  talent,  and  his  wife's  wealth, 
to  attain  a  position  in  the  political  and  social  world  where 
he  could  express  his  contempt  for  his  brother,  whom  lie  hated 
as  intensely  as  he  could  hate  one  whom  he  despised  so  much. 
In  the  accomplishment  of  his  purposes,  he  had  sought  the 
theatre  of  war ;  and  his  wife,  with  that  tenacity  of  affection, 
or  rather  sacrifice  of  self,  that  is  not  unfrcquently  shown  by 
persons  conscious  of  personal  inferiority,  insisted  on  accom- 
panying him.  She  went  with  him  to  Quebec ;  and  two  years 
and  a  half  afterwards  departed  to  another  world,  leaving  a 
child,  a  daughter,  that  had  been  born  six  months  after  her 
arrival.  Col.  Cumberland  had  regarded  his  wife  only  as  an 
investment.  He  had  never  pretended  to  love  her ;  and  when 
she  died,  as  she  had  left  an  heir,  he  did  not  pretend  to  mourn 
her   death.     The   child,    however,   was   all    in    all  to   him. 

6* 


54  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

Worldly  interest  and  parental  fondness  seemed  to  unite  in 
him  towards  this  wee  thing,  thus  cast,  as  it  were,  on  a  foreign 
shore,  and  to  waken  feelings  that  had  hitherto  been  dormant 
in  his  selfish,  ambitious  nature. 

As  all  his  plans  and  hopes  depended  on  this  child's  life, 
he  was  naturally  anxious  that  it- should  be  sent  to  Eng- 
land, where  it  would  receive  more  care  and  attention  than 
among  the  strangers  who  had  the  charge  of  it  in  the  city 
of  its  birth.  His  wife  would  never  consent  to  return  to 
England  without  her  husband;  but  the  child  had  no  voice  in 
its  own  disposition  :  and  it  was  Col.  Cumberland's  intention, 
as  soon  as  he  reached  Quebec,  to  get  leave  of  absence,  and 
take  it  himself  to  his  friends,  and  see  that  in  every  thing  it 
was  amply  provided  for.  His  surprise  and  defeat,  however, 
disarranged  all  his  plans,  and  dashed  all  his  hopes  of  prefer- 
ment ;  and  now,  instead  of  being  on  his  way  to  England,  he 
was  hunting  a  road  through  the  forest  to  report  his  own  dis- 
comfiture, and  perhaps  be  subjected  to  the  humiliation  of  a 
court-martial.  He  had  not  thought  of  being  absent  from 
headquarters  for  more  than  two  weeks ;  but  he  had  been  sur- 
prised, his  force  destroyed,  his  retreat  cut  off,  and  he  could 
return  only  by  a  long  circuit,  intercepting  and  joining  one  of 
the  detachments  moving  by  the  western  road  from  the  army 
of  New  York  to  Montreal.  It  was  a  long,  perilous,  and  pe- 
culiarly vexatious  journey;  and,  as  he  led  his  small  fragment 
of  an  army  through  the  forest,  he  was  in  the  most  vicious 
and  implacable  frame  of  mind. 

In  his  flight  to  the  west,  he  was  obliged  to  follow  the  old 
Indian  trails;  and,  unfortunately,  the  one  he  chose  led  directly 
over  Gault's  Hill.  The  path  they  took  was  a  well-known 
trail ;  and  the  spring  near  Gault's  house  had  been  a  famous 
camping-ground  for  the  savages  for  a  long  time.  The  party 
had  arrived  in  sight  of  Gault's  Hill  and  clearing  about  an 
hour  before  sunset ;  and,  at  sight  of  it,  it  occurred  to  Cumber- 
land that  perhaps  there  might  be  an  encampment  of  Yankee 
troops,  which,  if  he  could  surprise,  it  would  go  far  to  wipe 
out  the  disgrace  of  his  last  engagement.  The  party  arrived 
at  the  spring  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening ;  and  here  the 
word  was  given  out  that  they  would  encamp  for  the  night,  if 
nothing  new  were  discovered.  Strict  injunctions  were  given 
that  no  noise  should  be  made,  and  no  fire  lighted,  till  a  re- 
connoissance  had  been  made.     The  company  therefore  threw 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  65 

themselves  on  the  ground  about  the  spring,  and  waited  for 
their  colonel  to  go,  and  examine  for  himself  the  prospect  of 
an  adventure. 

He  took  with  him,  for  this  purpose,  his  most  expert  Indian 
scout,  —  the  one  on  whom  he  most  relied  for  daring  ventures 
and  subtle  resource.  He  was  one  of  the  last  of  a  tribe  nearly- 
extinct  ;  and  was  so  noted  for  his  cunning  and  ferocity,  that 
he  was  known  by  the  name  of  "  Sleeping  Vengeance." 

The  two  advanced  very  cautiously ;  and,  as  they  beared  the 
house,  they  perceived  that  outside  all  was  still  and  quiet,  and 
only  the  gleam  of  a  light  from  a  single  window  gave  any 
signs  that  any  waking  person  was  about  the  premises. 
Stealthily  creeping  round  till  they  came  within  the  glare  of 
the  light,  they  could  see,  from  the  stump  of  a  tree  very  near 
the  house,  such  a  scene  as  neither  anticipated.  Instead  of  a 
company  of  soldiers,  making  use  of  the  house  for  a  resting- 
place  for  the  night,  and  who  could  be  surprised,  and  taken 
prisoners,  there  was  a  fireside  of  domestic  happiness  such  as 
had  not  been  seen  by  Col.  Cumberland  for  many  a  day.  A 
bright  fire  was  in  the  broad  fireplace ;  and  at  one  side  sat  a 
man  of  powerful  frame,  holding  a  large  book  open  on  his 
lap.  At  the  opposite  corner  sat  a  woman,  young  and  beauti- 
ful, her  dress  partially  loosed  about  the  neck  as  if  about  re- 
tiring for  the  night,  revealing  shoulders  and  bosom  of  snowy 
whiteness,  while  a  smile  of  playfulness  and  love  was  upon 
her  face  as  she  held  up  a  child's  night-gown  to  a  little  girl 
that  was  coyly  approaching  her  from  the  other  side,  now 
casting  an  arch  look  over  her  shoulder  to  her  father,  and 
then  mischievously  laughing  and  pouting  as  if  yet  unwilling 
to  submit  to  the  maternal  commands.  It  was  a  sight  to  have 
softened  the  spirit  of  a  demon,  and  for  a  moment  Col.  Cum- 
berland paused  to  admire.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 
A  second  glance  at  the  beautiful,  partially  undressed  woman, 
roused  in  him  a  feeling  of  diabolical  passion  such  as  we  read 
of  having  possessed  the  Cenci,  or  that  "  Sextus  who  wrought 
the  deed  of  shame."  Gazing  with  malignant,  devilish  eye 
for  a  moment,  his  resolution  was  taken.  He  bade  the  Indian 
return,  and  tell  the  soldiers  to  be  prepared,  if  any  one  ap- 
proached without  first  giving  the  countersign  of  "King 
George,"  to  shoot  him  in  his  tracks.  Some  one  was  then  to 
make  a  noise  as  of  a  person  calling  for  help ;  and  as  soon  as 
they  saw  a  man  approaching,  as  they  undoubtedly  would,  to 


00  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

learn  the  cause,  they  were  to  shoot  him  dead ;  but  for  no  one, 
save  himself,  to  return  to  the  house  till  further  orders. 

The  Indian  returned  to  the  spring,  and  repeated  the  or- 
ders of  the  commandant,  and  then  went  back  to  learn  and 
execute  his  further  pleasure.  They  both  now  concealed 
themselves  behind  a  fallen  tree,  and  soon  after  heard  a  call  as 
of  a  person  in  great  distress.  They  saw  the  door  open,  and  a 
man  come  forth,  and  look  out.  There  was  another  cr.ll ;  and 
they  saw  the  man  turn  back,  and  re-appear  a  moment  after 
with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder,  and  go  forth  along  the  path 
towards  the  spring.  The  colonel  now  told  his  compan- 
ion, as  soon  as  he  heard  the  sound  of  fire-arms,  to  rush 
into  the  house,  seize  the  child,  and  make  off  with  it ;  doing 
with  it  as  he  liked. 

"  It  is  to  be  mine,  is  it  ?  "  said  Sleeping  Vengeance. 

"  If  you  want  it ;  but  yofi  will  split  its  skull  before  you 
have  had  it  an  hour,"  replied  the  officer. 

"That  is  for  me  to  say,"  said  the  savage,  just  as  the  sharp 
reports  of  half  a  dozen  muskets  were  heard. 

The  two  sprang  forward,  Vengeance  in  advance  ;  and,  just 
as  the  door  was  opened  again,  they  heard  a  loud  agonizing 
groan,  that  was  answered  by  a  shriek  from  the  wife,  who 
rushed  to  the  door  in  frantic  alarm.  At  the  threshold 
she  met  the  uncouth  figure  of  Sleeping  Vengeance,  who 
pushed  her  back  into  the  room,  and  caught  up  the  child  (that 
in  its  fright  had  jumped  from  its  low  truckle-bed),  and 
rushed  toward  the  door.  The  mother,  seeing  the  purpose 
of  the  Indian,  grasped  at  the  child,  and  tried  to  tear  it  from 
him.  At  this  instant  she  was  seized  by  a  tall  officer  in  uni- 
form, who  thrust  her  back  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
bade  the  savage  make  way  with  the  child.  She  made  an- 
other spring  towards  the  door ;  but  the  officer  hurled  her 
back  with  such  force,  that  this  time  she  fell  unconscious  on 
the  floor.  He  then  firmly  closed  and  barred  the  door;  and, 
with  water  from  a  bucket  standing  in  the  room,  he  dashed 
her  face  till  she  was  roused  to  consciousness. 

The  fire  was  still  bright  upon  the  hearth.  He  looked 
about  to  see  that  no  other  eyes  were  beholding  him ;  and, 
feeling  that  the  deed  in  his  heart  would  not  bear  the  light, 
he  dashed  the  bucket  of  water  on  the  fire,  and  all  was 
dark. 

In  half  an  hour  he  left  the  house,  and  returned  to  his  par- 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  57 

ty,  who  were  waiting  impatient  at  his  long  delay.  His  vic- 
tim he  had  left  senseless  in  the  house ;  and  the  remaining 
ejaculations  of  the  child  which  Vengeance  held  in  his  arms 
near  by  was  all  the  sound  that  disturbed  the  stillness  of  that 
dreadful  night. 

"Make  way  with  the  brat!"  said  the  colonel,  impatient 
and  troubled.     "  Let  us  be  off  now ! " 

"  The  child  belongs  to  Vengeance,"  said  the  savage,  mov- 
ing off  towards  the  spring. 

They  passed  the  body  of  the  dead  pioneer,  fallen  direct- 
ly in  their  path,  at  a  distance  of  about  ten  rods  from  the 
camping-ground.  Their  companions  were  all  on  the  alert, 
expecting  an  engagement  with  a  body  of  Yankees;  but  their 
commander  told  them  they  were  all  despatched  except  that 
noisy  young  one  that  old  Vengeance  carried  in  his  arms. 
"  But,  to  make  all  sure,  I  will  return :  come  with  me,"  said  he, 
addressing  two  other  savages  that  stood  in  front  of  him. 
"  The  rest  of  the  party  move  on,  and  we  will  overtake  you 
in  half  an  hour."  , 

With  the  two  savages  he  returned  to  the  house,  and  bade 
them  enter,  and,  if  the  woman  were  alive,  despatch  her 
(imitating  the  throat-cutting  process),  heap  up  some  wood 
and  furniture  on  her  body,  and  set  fire  to  the  pile. 

The  fire,  that  for  the  moment  he  had  extinguished,  was 
blazing  brighter  than  ever  on  the  hearth  ;  and,  to  make  sure 
that  his  orders  were  obeyed,  he  climbed  upon  the  same 
stump  from  which  he  had  first  viewed  the  happy  family  cir- 
cle. The  two  savages  had  entered  and  despatched  the  wo- 
man, whom  they  had  found  insensible  upon  the  floor ;  cutting 
her  throat  from  ear  to  ear.  At  this  instant,  Col.  Cumberland 
gained  a  view  from  the  outside;  and  a  single  glance  sufficed 
to  fill  him  with  horror,  and  cause  his  soul  to  revolt  within 
him.  Though  he  gazed  but  for  an  instant,  the  sight  never 
left  him.  It  was  ever  after  present  to  him.  The  murdered  wo- 
man lay  extended  on  the  floor,  with  a  horrid  gash  across  her 
neck;  and  the  blood  was  fast  gushing  from  the  wound. 
The  blow  of  the  knife  had  aroused  her,  for  the  instant,  to 
consciousness ;  and  her  face  assumed  a  look  such  as  trans- 
fixed the  beholder.  Her  countenance  looked  more  beautiful 
than  ever  in  life,  for  there  was  an  angelic  smile  upon  it ;  and 
the  eyes,  that  rolled  till  they  seemed  to  rest  upon  him,  had 
a  look  all  unearthly,  all  forgiving,  and  yet  all  withering  to 


58  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  ! 

bis  guilty  soul.  But  they  had  not  the  curse  that  the  An- 
cient Mariner  saw  "in  the  dead  man's  eye."  It  was  a  look 
that  served  to  illuminate  the  dark  soul  of  him  who  beheld 
it,  and  to  show  its  own  blackness.  There  was  a  look,  too,  of 
resignation  and  of  joy  upon  the  countenance,  as  if  the  re- 
leased spirit,  catching  a  view  of  the  bright  hereafter,  had,  on 
quitting  its  earthly  tabernacle,  left  this  glimpse  of  a  brighter 
world  impressed  on  the  features  it  was  leaving. 

Col.  Cumberland  turned  away  from  the  scene ;  but  that 
face  was  ever  present  to  his  eyes, —  the  horrid  gash;  the 
Upturned,  unearthly  eyes ;  the  features  of  ethereal  loveliness. 
He  heard  a  noise  behind  him,  and,  looking  back,  beheld 
Sleeping  Vengeance  looking  in  at  the  window.  He  held 
the  child,  which  was  now  silent,  in  his  arms,  its  head  averted 
from  the  scene. 

"Come  away!"  said  the  colonel :  "  let  us  march !  " 

"  Ugh !  white  woman  very  pretty.  White  officer  love 
white  woman  :  ha,  ha ! " 

"  Follow  me,"  said  the  colonel,  moving  rapidly  after  the 
company,  who  had  taken  up  their  line  of  march  some 
time  before.  "Tell  the  others  to  make  sure  and  set  the 
house  on  fire,  and  come  on." 

The  two  Indians  who  had  entered  the  house  to  fulfil 
their  commander's  orders,  having  piled  about  the  body  a 
quantity  of  fire-wood  and  broken  chairs  and  tables,  drew 
out  some  brands  from  the  fireplace ;  and,  as  soon  as  the 
funeral  pyre  was  fairly  ablaze,  they  set  forth  to  follow  the 
rest  of  the  company.  But  they  were  not  forgetful  of  their 
own  war  practice ;  for  the  scalps  of  both  the  man  and  wo- 
man were  taken,  and  also  such  trinkets  and  valuables  as 
their  eyes  coveted,  and  were  not  too  heavy  or  cumbersome 
to  be  carried  on  their  long  and  difficult  march. 

The  party  moved  on  at  a  rapid  pace  for  three  or  four 
hours ;  their  leader  urging  them,  every  few  moments,  to 
greater  speed.  Sleeping  Vengeance  no  sooner  came  up 
with  the  company  than  he  put  himself  at  their  head,  carry- 
ing the  child  all  the  while  tenderly  in  his  arms.  It  had 
worn  itself  out  by  crying,  and  calling  for  its  father  and 
mother ;  and  at  length  slept  in  the  embrace  of  the  savage. 
At  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they  came  to  another 
spring  of  water,  with  a  small  opening  around  it.  The  sol- 
diers here  begged  that  they  might  be  allowed  to  rest  for  a 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  59 

few  hours ;  and  the  colonel  gave  a  surly  assent  to  their  re- 
quest. The  Indians,  all  but  Vengeance,  threw  themselves, 
without  waiting  for  leave,  upon  the  ground,  and  were  soon 
asleep.  But  it  was  not  for  Col.  Cumberland  to  sleep  then, 
nor  for  long  after.  Not  Hamlet's  uncle,  nor  Macbeth's  wife, 
was  ever  troubled  with  such  "  thick-coming  fancies  "  as  was 
he  that  night.  Every  minute  he  would  crouch  and  cringe 
and  shrink  as  if  some  horrid  phantom  was  before  his  eyes, 
some  fearful  sound  piercing  his  ear. 

He  walked  back  and  forth ;  he  closed  his  eyes ;  he  put 
his  hands  over  his  ears ;  he  whistled ;  he  sung :  but  it  would 
not  do.  There  was  before  him,  behind  him,  on  this  side 
and  on  that,  the  same  picture,  —  the  fireside  scene,  the  fire  of 
musketry  interrupting,  the  groan  of  the  strong  man,  the 
scream  and  piercing  cry  of  the  outraged  woman,  the  shriek 
of  the  child.  Turn  here,  turn  there,  it  was  the  same.  An 
accusing  spirit  was  pursuing  him ;  and,  whether  his  eyes  were 
open  or  closed,  that  last  scene  —  the  sweet  face  of  the  mur- 
dered woman ;  the  mild,  angelic  eyes  ;  the  heaven-irradiated 
features;  the  gash  in  the  neck,  from  which  the  life-blood 
gushed — was  ever  present  to  his  view. 

The  child,  overcome  by  fright  and  exhausted  by  its  cries, 
was  now  lying  silent,  and  apparently  asleep,  wrapped  in  the 
blanket  of  Vengeance,  and  held  gently  in  his  arms  as  he  lay 
reposing  on  the  ground.  It  had  been  carried  away  with 
nothing  but  its  night-gown;  and  Vengeance  was  too  cunning 
and  subtle  to  expose  so  delicate  a  prize  to  the  night  air. 
Every  person  in  the  company  slept,  save  only  Vengeance  and 
Col.  Cumberland.  The  latter  wandered  about,  endeavoring 
to  shut  out  from  his  perturbed  sight  the  ever-present  vision. 
He  would  have  given  any  thing  in  the  world,  excepting  only 
his  own  child's  life,  to  have  recalled  the  last  few  hours.  But 
it  was  too  late  now.  The  past  could  not  be  obliterated.  The 
deed,  too  horrible,  too  infamous,  to  be  recalled,  or  related  in 
its  details,  had  been  committed;  and  how  should  he  expiate 
it  ?  He  would  do  any  thing  that  would  not  compromise  his 
family  rank,  or  be  inconsistent  with  the  name  and  dignity  of 
the  Cumberlands.  His  education,  his  pride,  his  rank,  had  all 
so  tempered  his  character,  that  no  natural  right  of  persons, 
not  of  his  own  class,  could  ever  conflict  with  the  interests  of 
his  family. 

But  he  cannot  long  endure  the  phantom  that  pursues  him, 


60  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

and  his  thoughts  are  bent  on  some  way  to  appease  and  lay  it. 
The  child  is  the  only  medium ;  and  he  resolves  that  he  will 
protect  it,  and  do  every  thing  for  it  in  his  power.  And  he 
imagines  that  thus  he  will  atone  for  the  crime  on  Gault's 
Hill.  As  he  was  moving  along,  turning  his  head,  now  this 
way,  and  then  that,  to  avoid  the  dreadful  sight  that  was  ever 
present  to  his  mind's  eye,  he  was  overheard  by  Vengeance, 
who  was  creeping  stealthily  behind  him,  holding  the  child 
asleep  in  his  arms. 

"  Yes :  I  will  do  it.  I  will  take  her  to  England.  I  will 
adopt  her  as  my  own.  She  shall  be  the  companion  and 
playmate  of  my  own  child.  I  will  endow  her  with  a  for- 
tune, and  she  shall  marry  a  lord, — any  thing,  any  thing  to  put 
away  that  infernal  sight.  And  isn't  that  enough  ?  Wouldn't 
many  a  man  in  my  country  gladly  sacrifice  all  the  rest  of 
his  family  to  see  one  member  in  a  family  like  mine  ?  And 
what  more  can  I  do ?  My  mind  is  made  up :  I  will  do  it;  I 
will  make  ample  amends.     Now,  you  horrid  spectre,  down ! " 

But  the  spectre  would  not  down,  notwithstanding  these 
good  resolutions ;  and  in  his  despair  he  called  out,  "What 
more  can  I  do  ?  what  more  would  you  have  ?  " 

"  Life  for  life,"  said  Vengeance,  whose  proximity  had  not 
been  suspected  by  Cumberland. 

"  You  here,  monster  ?  "  said  he,  turning  gruffly  round,  and 
waiting  for  the  savage  to  pass  ahead,  who,  with  a  grin  sinis- 
ter and  devilish  on  his  countenance,  seemed  to  mock  his 
misery. 

That  night  he  resolved  that  he  would  take  the  child  from 
the  possession  of  old  Vengeance.  But  how  could  he  do  it  ? 
He  first  thought  to  order  him  to  give  it  up ;  and,  if  he  de- 
murred, to  reason  with  him,  and  coax  him  with  promises  of 
large  rewards  when  they  should  reach  Quebec. 

Accordingly,  when  all  the  others  were  asleep  save  a  sin- 
gle sentinel,  the  unhappy  commander  approached  the  spot 
where  Vengeance  was  lying,  holding  the  child  asleep  in  his 
arms. 

'•  Old  man,"  said  he,  "  you  must  give  me  that  child." 

"  Give  it  to  you  ?    It  is  mine.     No !  " 

"  But  you  must  be  tired  of  carrying  it.  I  will  order  my 
men  to  carry  it  carefully  by  turns ;  and,  when  we  get  to  Que- 
bec, I  will  give  you  a  hundred  dollars." 

"  Aha ! "  said  he,  raising  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  looking 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  61 

sharply  at  the  officer,  and  whispering  fiercely  through  his 
long  shark's  teeth,  "I  shall  give  it  to  you,  shall  I?  Ven- 
geance shall  give  his  pet  lamb  to  the  wolf?  He  had  not 
seen  the  servant  of  his  great  father,  the  king,  do  an  act  that 
even  the  Huron  would  recoil  from,  —  an  act  that  would  make 
the  basest  red-skin  disown  his  own  flesh  and  blood ;  ay,  and 
give  him  to  his  enemies  to  roast  him  before  his  eyes,  while 
they  sung  and  danced  to  the  sweet  music  of  his  dying  ago- 
nies ?  And  to  such  mercy  will  Vengeance  give  this  sleeping 
lamb?  The  tomahawk  of  the  Delaware  is  heavy,  and  his 
knife  sharp ;  but  they  are  merciful  to  Mellita,  compared  to  the 
kindness  of  the  servant  of  our  good  father  beyond  the  big 
waters." 

Cumberland  turned  away  at  this  speech ;  for  it  was  evident 
that  the  savage  would  bury  his  tomahawk  in  the  brain  of  the 
child  sooner  than  surrender  it  to  him.  If  he  would  ever 
get  possession  of  it  alive,  he  was  convinced  now  that  it  must 
be  by  stratagem ;  and  he  thought  it  better  to  make  no  at- 
tempt of  that  kind  until  near  the  end  of  their  journey. 

At  the  first  glimmering  of  day  the  next  morning,  the  order 
was  given  to  march.  There  had  been  no  sleep  for  the  com- 
mander that  night ;  and  he  longed  for  daylight,  in  the  hope 
that  with  it  the  dreadful  vision  before  him  would  disappear. 
Vengeance  stole  off  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  bear- 
ing the  girl  gently  in  his  arms. 

The  child  at  length  awoke ;  and,  after  staring  about  in 
wonder  at  nojb  being  able  to  realize  where  she  was,  she  broke 
into  loud  cries,  calling  alternately  for  her  father  and  mother. 
At  length  she  fell  into  a  spell  of*  bitter,  hopeless  weep- 
ing, and  from  that  into  a  state  of  silent  and  fright- 
ened apathy,  and  seeming  indifference  to  all  around  her. 
When  the  party  stopped  to  partake  of  such  food  as  their 
arms  had  brought  to  the  ground,  the  Indian  protector  se- 
cured the  nicest  pieces  for  his  charge,  which  he  carefully 
broiled,  and  held  to  the  child's  lips.  At  first  it  was  forced  to 
taste  the  dripping  gravy ;  but  directly  it  seized  the  delicate 
morsel,  and  devoured  it  as  eagerly  as  it  had  been  wont  to 
devour  the  titbits  which  it  had  received  from  a  mother's 
hand. 

On  the  third  day  after  the  Gault's-Hill  affair,  the  party 
struck  a  cross-trail  that  led  from  New  York  to  Canada. 
They  found,  near  where  the  trails  met,  the  smoking  embers 


62  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

of  a  camp-fire;  and,  from  a  close  inspection  of  the  tracks, 
they  were  satisfied  that  a  considerable  party  of  royal 
troops  had  camped  there  the  night  before,  and  that  their 
course  was  to  the  north.  This  was  a  cheering  prospect 
for  Cumberland ;  for  it  was  his  wish,  above  all  things,  to 
return  to  Quebec ;  and,  had  he  met  a  large  party  going  the 
other  way,  he  would  have  felt  compelled  to  join  it,  and  go  to 
New  York,  and  there  submit  the  affair  of  his  surprise  and 
defeat  to  the  scrutiny  of  his  superiors.  He  therefore  resolved 
to  follow  and  overtake  this  party  with  all  despatch ;  and,  giv- 
ing orders  accordingly,  they  overtook  it  the  same  night,  and 
pursued  their  journey  with  them  to  their  destination.  The 
party  which  they  thus  opportunely  met  was  an  escort  of  some 
American  prisoners,  among  whom  was  that  terror  of  British 
arms,  Ethan  Allen.  The  presence  of  this  hero  gave  great 
uneasiness  both  to  Cumberland  and  Sleeping  Vengeance. 
The  former  feared  that  the  particulars  of  the  Gault-Hill  tra- 
gedy would  become  known  to  the  world  through  him ;  and 
Vengeance  feared  that  he  mi^ht  interfere  with  the  authori- 
ties  at  Quebec,  and  get  the  child  taken  from  him.  He  and 
Cumberland,  accordingly,  both  avoided  the  sight  of  the  pris- 
oners as  much  as  possible ;  and  not  unfrequently  the  two 
would  be  the  last  of  the  whole  company. 

Cumberland  appeared  dejected  and  haggard.  The  savage 
noticed  his  wretchedness,  and  saw  that  he  constantly  seemed 
to  be  endeavoring  to  avert  from  his  eyes  an  apparition  or 
vision  that  was  ever  present  in  spite  of  him.  From  the  mut- 
terings  which  he  heard,  he  learned  the  nature  of  the  appari- 
tion ;  and  when  the  cokmel  fell  back  to  talk  with  him,  and  to 
urge  him  to  treat  the  child  tenderly,  he  guessed  the  train  of 
his  thoughts,  and  was  fully  convinced  that  he  meant  to  take 
it  from  him  whenever  a  good  opportunity  should  occur. 
Each  day  Vengeance  saw  that  his  face  grew  more  haggard, 
his  step  less  firm,  his  brow  more  anxious  and  care-worn. 
If  he  turned  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  he  seemed  to  see 
something  that  appalled  him,  and  turned  to  look  another 
way.  But  he  could  not  look  in  any  direction  more  tl^an 
a  moment,  but  must  turn  away  again,  as  if  pursued  by  an 
avenging,  palpable,  and  visible  spirit.  If  the  Indian  chanced 
to  be  near  enough  to  overhear  his  mutterings  to  himself,  he 
found  they  were  always  on  the  same  subject  and  in  one 
strain.    "  Yankees,  rebels  against  the  king.    Ah,  well !  the 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  63 

minister  told  me  to  show  no  mercy  ;  that  I  should  never  suf- 
fer from  too  much  severity.  But  that  look !  —  down  !  But  if 
the  story  gets  out  ?  He  can't  abandon  me.  He  told  me  to 
show  no  quarter,  but  that  the  written  orders  must  conform  to 
the  usages  of  war.  Will  he  stand  by  his  verbal  or  his  writ- 
ten instructions  ?  But  why  does  that  woman  always  look  at 
me  so  ?     Won't  I  take  good  care  of  her  child  ?  " 

"  You  will ! "  says  Vengeance  to  himself,  falling  back  so 
as  not  to  be  suspected  of  overhearing.  "Vengeance  may 
sleep ;  but  he  never  forgives  nor  forgets." 

That  night,  as  the  savage  lay  upon  the  ground,  holding 
the  child  asleep  in  his  arms,  he  was  conscious  that  Col.  Cum- 
berland was  watching  him,  though  he  had  seen  or  heard 
nothing.  Without  the  least  motion  of  his  body  that  could 
disturb  his  sleeping  charge,  he  began  to  mutter  aloud,  "Ven- 
geance sleeps  now ;  and  the  servant  of  our  great  father,  the 
king,  may  win  new  stars  for  his  coat,  new  plumes  for  his  cap, 
and  a  new  victim  of  his  brave  exploits  to  bear  to  his  own 
country  to  show  to  his  chiefs  and  squaws.  Ha!  let  him 
strike  at  Sleeping  Vengeance,  and  he  cuts  the  air." 

The  officer  fell  back  ashamed  and  mortified,  for  he  saw 
that  the  savage  was  too  vigilant  for  him ;  and  he  continued 
to  walk  about  till  morning,  to  make  it  appear  that  his  intru- 
sion on  the  Indian  had  been  accidental,  and  without  object 
or  special  purpose. 

The  Indian  and  the  officer  now  fully  understood  each  oth- 
er. The  former  meant  to  keep  the  child,  and  the  latter  to 
get  it  from  him.  The  officer  was  aware  that  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  get  it  away  alive  until  they  arrived  at  their  point 
of  destination  ;  when  he  was  resolved  to  do  it,  even  if  it  be- 
came necessary  to  shoot  the  savage  dead.  Once  arrived  at 
Quebec,  he  could  easily  render  harmless  the  Indian  compan- 
ions of  their  leader  by  giving  them  a  liberal  supply  of  rum  ; 
and  then  a  single  bullet  would  settle  Vengeance,  and  place 
the  child  in  his  power. 

On  arriving  at  Quebec,  Cumberland  hurried  to  see  his  own 
child,  which,  in  spite  of  all  his  fears  and  misgivings,  he  found 
alive,  in  good  health,  and  well  cared  for.  His  resolution  was 
at  once  taken,  that,  as  soon  as  he  could  rescue  the  other  one 
from  the  hands  of  Vengeance,  he  would  sail  for  England, 
taking  the  two  with  him.  The  Indians  in  his  party  had 
been  promised  large  quantities  of  blankets,  fire-water,  ammu- 


64  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

nition,  arms,  and  trinkets,  which  he  took  good  care  should 
not  be  paid  till  his  purpose  was  accomplished,  lest  they 
should  depart  for  the  West,  taking  the  child  along  with  them. 
They  were  encamped  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town ;  and  Col. 
Cumberland  represented  to  the  commandant  of  the  forces  then 
at  Quebec  that  there  was  a  white  child  among  them,  that 
could  be  rescued  alive  only  by  stratagem,  and  asked  his  as- 
sistance in  obtaining  it.  The  commandant  said  it  would  be 
well  to  arrest  the  whole  party ;  and  then,  when  they  were 
surrounded  and  powerless,  it  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  get 
the  child  away.  Cumberland  knew  that  it  would  be  neces- 
sary for  him  to  keep  out  of  sight ;  for,  if  Vengeance  suspected 
he  had  any  hand  in  the  movement,  he  would  escape,  and 
either  take  the  child  with  him,  or  destroy  it.  The  plan  of 
the  commandant  was  approved  by  him ;  and  he  was  ordered  to 
take  a  company  of  soldiers,  and  bring  all  the  Indians  into  town. 

The  next  day,  at  the  hour  of  drill,  a  company  of  infantry 
was  ordered  to  go  out  and  practise  their  evolutions  in  the 
vicinity  of  their  Indian  allies,  and  to  gradually  surround 
them,  and  then  march  them  all  into  town. 

Cumberland  watched  their  movements  unobserved  and 
at  a  distance.  He  had  placed  himself,  armed  with  a  loaded 
musket,  near  a  path  along  which  Vengeance  would  be  obliged 
to  pass  if  he  attempted  to  escape,  and  there  waited  and 
watched.  The  captain  of  the  company  alone  had  been  in- 
formed of  the  real  object  of  making  this  arrest  of  the  Indi- 
ans ;  and  he  marched  out  his  men,  and  put  them  through  a 
variety  of  evolutions,  but  gradually  getting  behind  and  en- 
circling the  savages. 

From  his  concealment,  Cumberland  observed  every  move- 
ment, and  saw,  that,  as  the  troops  approached  the  Indian 
encampment,  old  Vengeance  moved  away  a  short  distance, 
carrying  the  child  in  his  arms. 

"  He  is  coming  this  way,"  said  Cumberland  to  himself.  "  I 
will  shoot  him  before  I  will  let  him  get  away." 

The  drill  was  kept  up  so  long,  that  the  wily  old  savage 
began  to  think  that  there  was  no  other  object  in  view,  and 
approached  his  comrades.  Then  the  drill-officer  undertook 
to  suddenly  throw  his  men  behind  him  and  all  the  others, 
and  then,  when  no  escape  was  possible,  to  announce  to 
them  that  they  must  march  into  town  to  be  paid  off.  This 
was  the  advice  of  Cumberland,  who  feared  that  the  Indians 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY. 


65 


might  otherwise  suspect  a  snare,  and  be  unwilling  to  enter 
the  town,  and  perhaps  make  a  great  tumult  and  confusion, 
in  which  Vengeance  might  escape.  •  Besides,  he  wTas  afraid 
that  Vengeance,  after  they  were  all  taken,  would  suspect  the 
real  object,  and,  rather  than  give  up  the  child,  bury  his  toma- 
hawk in  its  brain. 

The  instant  that  the  crafty  savage  saw  the  last  movement 
of  the  soldiers,  he  caught  the  child,  and  ran ;  and  the  captain 
incautiously  gave  orders  to  follow,  and  bring  him  back,  and 
kill  him,  if  necessary,  to  save  the  child. 

Several  of  the  younger  and  fleeter  soldiers  sprang  forward  ; 
and  the  sergeant,  who  was  in  advance,  ordered  him  to  stop. 
But  the  Indian  heeded  him  not :  he,  even  with  his  burden, 
gained  fast  on  his  pursuers ;  and  they  were  about  abandoning 
the  chase,  when,  just  as  he  was  springing  like  a  deer  along 
the  brow  of  an  abrupt  cliff,  the  report  of  a  musket  was 
heard,  and  the  Indian,  was  seen  to  stagger  forward,  and,  drop- 
ping the  child  upon  the  bank,  to  fall  over  to  the  bottom  of 
the  cliff  below. 

Cumberland  ran  forward  from  his  hiding-place,  and,  catch- 
ing up  the  child,  hurried  from  the  spot,  without  seeing  or 
being  seen  by  the  savage,  whose  ankle  he  had  shivered  as  he 
was  springing  towards  the  top  of  the  cliff.  The  Indian  had 
intended  to  drop  down  the  cliff,  and  escape  with  his  charge ; 
but  the  ball  from  Cumberland's  rifle  had  caused  him  to  drop 
the  child  on  the  bank,  and  tumble  over  himself  to  the  bot- 
tom, some  twenty  feet  below.  He  quickly  scrambled  to  the 
top,  however,  but  to  find  his  treasure  gone.  Casting  round 
his  eyes,  he  saw  the  sergeant  of  the  company  running  rapidly 
towards  him.  The  savage  calmly  awaited  his  approach,  his 
tomahawk  poised  in  his  hand,  until  he  had  come  within 
about  twenty  yards,  when  with  eagle  aim  he  let  fly  the 
hatchet,  that  whizzed  through  the  air,  and  buried  itself,  to 
the  eye,  in  the  head  of  the  soldier.  With  a  yell  of  defiance, 
the  savage  turned,  and  jumped  down  the  bank ;  and,  by  the 
time  the  others  of  the  pursuers  had  reached  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  he  had  hobbled  away,  and  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

The  child  was  taken  to  the  house  of  the  commandant, 
and  strict  orders  given  that  on  no  account  should  any  one, 
but  the  nurse  that  had  been  procured  for  it,  be  admitted, 
and  that  the  room  in  which  it  was  kept  should  be  always 
locked.     He  still  feared  the  vengeance  of  Vengeance. 

6* 


66  GOMERT   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

Having,  as  he  thought,  secured  the  child  in  a  place  of 
safety,  he  immediately  made  preparations  for  taking  the  two 
orphans  to  England.  He  was  not  liable  to  forget  his  resolu- 
tion to  that  effect,  notwithstanding  the  child  of  the  mur- 
dered Gaults  was  now  in  safe  hands,  and  well  taken  care  of. 
The  horrid  spectre  had  never  left  his  sight  for  a  moment; 
and  he  was  every  instant  turning  his  eyes  to  avoid  the 
dread  apparition  that  arose  on  each  and  every  spot  where 
they  fell.  He  found  a  vessel  ready  to  sail  on  the  next  day ; 
and  he  secured  a  passage  for  himself,  two  children  and  two 
nurses,  and  gave  orders  to  have  every  thing  put  on  board 
early  in  the  morning.  The  last  thing  in  the  evening,  he 
went  to  give  some  final  directions  in  regard  to  his  own 
child.  He  feared  at  every  turn  and  corner  lest  he  should 
encounter  Sleeping  Vengeance  ;  but  having  made  up  his 
mind  that  the  greater  despatch,  the  less  danger,  he  resolved 
at  any  rate  to  leave  in  the  ship  that  was  to  sail  the  follow- 
ing day. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  came,  for  the  second 
time  that  day,  to  the  house  in  which  his  child  was  living 
with  its  nurse.  It  was  the  same  house  in  which  the  child 
was  born,  and  occupied  by  one  of  the  wealthiest  colonial 
families.  The  lady  of  the  house  had  been  kind  to  the  de- 
ceased mother,  and  regarded  Cumberland  with  great  awe 
and  respect  because  he  was  of  the  blood  of  the  old  nobility. 
This  lady  was  greatly  surprised  at  the  changed  and  hag- 
gard appearance  of  Cumberland,  and  noticed  his  troubled 
countenance,  and  his  constant  efforts  to  avoid  looking  at 
something  that  seemed  ever  before  his  eyes.  She  remarked 
to  her  husband  "  that  his  grief  for  the  loss  of  his  wife  had 
wrought  a"  great  change  in  him.  For  her  part,  she  had 
never  suspected  his  love  for  her  was  so  great." 

When  he  came  to  the  house  this  time,  intending  to 
pass  the  night  there,  and,  as  early  as  possible,  go  on  board 
the  ship  in  the  morning,  he  talked  over  with  his  friends  the 
adventures  of  his  late  disastrous  campaign ;  but  he  made  no 
allusion  to  the  affair  at  Gault's  Hill. 

Before  retiring  for  the  night,  the  father  insisted  on  seeing 
his  child.  The  nurse  was  called  in,  and  said  it  had  been 
fast  asleep  for  more  than  an  hour,  and,  if  disturbed,  would 
keep  awake  all  night.  "Ah !  well,"  said  he,  "  let  me  take  a 
light,  and  go  in  gently,  and  take  a  look  at  her  sleeping." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  67 

\ 

The  good  woman  led  the  way,  followed  by  Cumberland. 
They  approached  the  door  of  the  room,  and  gently  opened 
it,  and  entered.  At  first  the  candle  flared  so  in  the  wind, 
they  could  see  nothing  distinctly;  but  directly  the  light  was 
composed,  and  there  before  them,  on  the  floor,  lay  the  child, 
its  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  the  head  thrown  back,  reveal- 
ing the  yawning  gash,  one  hand  placed  under  the  head,  the 
eyes  open  and  fixed,  and  the  whole  disposed  like  that  other 
figure  when  he  last  gazed  upon  it,  and  whose  dying  look, 
from  which  he  had  turned  sickening  and  horror-struck  away, 
had  haunted  him  ever  since. 

Cumberland  knew  well  enough  who  had  done  this ;  and 
turned,  shuddering  and  appalled,  away.  "My  God  !  my 
God ! "  said  he,  "  have  I  deserved  a  punishment  like  this  ? 
It  is  more  than  I  can  bear."  He  sat  down  on  the  floor,  and 
for  ten  minutes  gazed  with  a  fixed  and  rigid  look  upon  the 
infant  corpse.  It  was  the  first  steady  look  he  had  given 
any  thing  since  the  fearful  tragedy  at  Gault's  Hill. 

A  search  was  made  for  the  perpetrator  of  this  deed. 
How  he  had  got  into  the  room,  no  one  could  tell.  The  win- 
dows were  found  fastened  down,  and  could  not  be  raised 
from  the  outside ;  so  that  he  must  have  stolen  in  and  out 
through  the  doors.  The  nurse  testified  that  she  was  not  ab- 
sent from  the  room  more  than  half  an  hour  during  the  whole 
evening.  She  had  left  the  child  asleep,  and  gone  into  the 
kitchen,  and  did  not  see  it  again  till  she  had  entered  with  the 
others  to  find  it  dead.  The  servants  took  lights,  and  looked 
carefully  about  the  doors  outside  for  traces  of  the  murderer. 
They  found  some  fresh  moccason  tracks;  but  they  were  all  of 
the  left  foot.  The  report  of  the  murder  soon  spread  through 
the  neighborhood ;  and,  through  the  night,  many  people 
were  on  the  alert,  seeking  for  the  maimed  savage ;  but  no 
trace  of  him  could  be  found  farther  than  a  few  yards  from 
the  house. 

Vengeance,  though  unsated,  was  asleep. 


68  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 


CHAPTER    V. 

H  Mac.    Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  Sleep  no  more ! 
Macbeth  doth  murder  sleep;  the  innocent  sleep; 
Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labor's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  Nature's  second  course, 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast. 

Lady  Mac.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Mac.    Still  it  cried,  Sleep  no  more  1  to  all  the  house  ; 
Glamis  hath  murdered  sleep  ;  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more,  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  morel"  —  Macbeth. 

The  impression  made  on  the  mind  of  Cumberland  by  the 
scene  last  described,  though  at  first  overpowering,  was  of 
but  transient  duration.  Though  all  his  hopes,  his  ambition 
and  pride,  had  been  centred  in  the  child  so  fiendishly  mur- 
dered, and  laid  before  his  eyes  a  mangled  corpse,  even  that 
dreadful  sight  could  not  drive  from  his  mind,  ay,  from  be- 
fore his  eyes,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  another  scene  a  thousand 
times  more  dreadful.  Even  though  forced  to  think  and  look 
upon  the  ghastly  spectacle  of  his  own  murdered  child,  he 
would  see  ever  beside  it  the  face  of  his  own  victim  of 
Gault's  Hill.  When  he  looked  for  the  last  time  upon  its 
sweet  young  face  as  it  lay  in  its  little  coffin,  his  eyes  were 
charmed  away  to  gaze  on  another  face,  that  seemed  lying 
beside  that  of  the  child,  and  from  which  he  turned  with  a 
shudder.  Those  mild  eyes,  illumined  by  a  light  not  of 
earth,  were  ever  there  to  gaze  upon  him,  and  penetrate  into 
the  innermost  recesses  of  his  soul. 

Though  Vengeance  had  so  fearfully  proved  himself  wor- 
thy of  the  name  which  had  been  given  him,  yet  Cumberland 
feared  him  no  less  than  before.  He  knew,  that,  if  the  other 
child  were  not  taken  from  the  country  very  shortly,  it  would 
share  the  same  fate.  He  therefore  decided  to  leave,  as  he 
had  intended,  on  the  first  vessel  that  sailed  for  England.  A 
metallic  case  was  obtained,  and  the  coffin  containing  the 
child  placed  in  it,  and  put  on  board  the  ship.  Knowing  the 
superstition   of  sailors  in   regard    to   having  dead   bodies 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  69 

aboard  ship,  he  gave  no  notice  to  any  one  of  the  contents 
of  this  case,  but  had  it  sent  off  with  his  baggage,  and  placed 
with  it  in  his  state-room.  The  child  of  the  forest  was  sent 
on  board  with  a  nurse,  and  every  thing  provided  for  its 
health  and  comfort.  At  daylight  of  the  second  day,  after  the 
rescue  of  one  child  and  the  murder  of  the  other,  the  an- 
chor of  the  "Royal  Edward"  was  raised  ;  and  wind,  tide,  and 
current  all  being  favorable,  the  gallant  ship  was  soon  out 
upon  the  broad  Atlantic. 

At  sea,  Cumberland  had  ample  time  to  think  upon  the 
past,  and  on  his  changed  condition  and  prospects.  Even  on 
board  the  "  Royal  Edward,"  the  vision  of  Gault's  Hill  pursued 
him.  His  great  grief  for  the  death  of  his  child,  and  the  rec- 
ollection of  its  appearance  when  he  first  saw  it  dead,  or  af- 
terwards when  laid  in  its  coffin,  were  as  nothing  towards 
dispelling  the  illusion  of  that  dreadful  night  in  the  forest. 
But  the  vision  was  more  distinct  at  some  times  than  at  oth- 
ers. Being  a  man  of  strong  will,  of  inflexible  purpose,  and 
great  self-control,  he  steeled  himself  to  the  sight,  and  gave 
his  thoughts  to  his  affairs  of  ambition  and  business.  But,  be- 
tween the  hours  of  ten  and  eleven  \at  night,  the  whole  scene 
stood  forth  before  him  with  such  faithful  reality  of  re-present- 
ment, that  he  saw  as  with  the  bodily  eye  the  whole  tragedy 
of  that  dreadful  night  enacted  before  him, — the  fireside  scene, 
the  clatter  of  musketry,  the  cry  and  groan  of  the  strong 
man,  the  shriek  of  the  woman,  the  scuffle,  the  child  borne 
off  by  the  savage  amid  its  childlike  screams,  and  last,  most 
fearful  of  all,  the  last  look  of  the  murdered  woman,  with 
those  calm,  heaven-touched,  unvengeful  eyes.  From  this 
the  wretched  man  would  recoil  and  shrink  and  turn  through 
several  weary  hours,  till  at  length,  from  sheer  exhaustion,  he 
would  sink  into  a  state  of  prostration  and  unconsciousness, 
that  from  syncope  changed  to  a  troubled  sleep  of  a  few  hours. 
And  that  was  all  the  sleep  his  Nemesis  allowed  him. 

The  waking  thoughts  of  Cumberland  were  upon  his  affairs 
in  England.  His  wife  and  child  being  both  dead,  he  could 
have  no  claim  on  that  estate  which  he  had  long  counted  on 
as  the  lever  of  his  ambitious  plans ;  and  his  thoughts  were 
directed  to  retrieving  his  fortunes,  so  seriously  damaged. 
However  great  his  sorrows,  and  however  conscious  of  guilt, 
he  was  not  one  to  forget  his  material  interest,  or  to  sac- 
rifice to  an  uneasy  conscience  any  of  the  privileges  of  his 


70  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

class.  Though  a  younger  son,  he  clung  to  the  privileges  of 
blood  against  natural  rights  with  as  much  tenacity  as  though 
he  had  been  the  gainer  by  them,  and  not  the  loser.  He  was 
a  scion  of  that  class  whose  absurd  pretensions  have  been  so 
long  recognized  and  deferred  to  by  the  common  people  of 
England,  that;  in  their  arrogance  and  contempt  for  all  others, 
they  unhesitatingly  believe  that  God  Almighty  must  consult 
them  before  deciding  on  any  important  point.  Though  the 
avenger  is  behind,  and  treachery,  ingratitude,  and  crime  in 
front,  if  rank,  title,  and  privilege  loom  up  beyond,  all  right 
and  justice  are  trampled  as  mere  dust  and  rubbish  under 
their  feet.  So  long  have  their  arrogant  claims  been  con- 
ceded, that  they  have  come  to  consider  that  no  other  class 
has  any  rights  which  they  are  morally  bound  to  respect. 
This  characteristic  of  a  class,  as  it  is  developed  socially  and 
politically,  is  typified  in  John  Bull,  who  knows  and  recog- 
nizes no  principle  of  honesty  or  honor,  and  no  motive  of  ac- 
tion, except  English  interest  and  power. 

Maxwell  Cumberland,  second  son  of  Lord  Maccleton,  had 
all  the  characteristics  of  the  class  to  which  he  belonged. 
Wilful  in  purpose,  the  opinion  of  the  world  was  to  him  only 
the  opinion  of  his  own  class.  What  others  of  lower  rank 
might  think  or  say  of  any  act  or  measure  was  to  him  a  mat- 
ter of  indifference.  His  class  moved  in  a  sphere  so  exalted, 
that,  if  they  did  not  look  with  indifference  on  all  below  them, 
at  least  they  regarded  them  as  mere  instruments,  to  be  used 
or  abused  as  might  most  contribute  to  their  own  pleasure. 
To  them  everything  was  subordinate  to  rank  and  title  in  the 
English  peerage.  That  was  their  Bible,  in  which  the  most 
important  text,  though  unwritten,  was  standing  forth  on 
every  page  in  blazing  significance ;  for  it  read  thus  different 
from  the  King  James's  dishonest  and  sectarian  version  of  the 
text,  and  was,  "  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  though  he  gain 
the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  rank  and  titles  and  family 
estates  ?  " 

When  fairly  out  at  sea,  and  safe  from  the  pursuing  arm  of 
Sleeping  Vengeance,  Cumberland  began  to  arrange  his  plans 
for  the  future.  His  former  schemes  had  all  come  to  nought. 
With  his  child  perished  all  his  cherished  prospects ;  and  he 
now  considered  his  position  and  the  course  that  he  should 
pursue.  That  there  were  any  rights  of  other  parties  not 
pertaining  to  his  class,  which  could  interfere  with  any  plans 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  71 

he  might  devise,  never  occurred  to  his  mind.  In  brooding 
over  his  condition,  his  first  thought  was  of  his  reception  in 
England  in  his  changed  circumstances;  and  he  set  about  de- 
vising some  means  to  save  himself  from  the  consequences 
that  would  naturally  follow  from  the  death  of  his  child.  In 
some  way,  he  must  save  to  himself  the  income  of  the  vast 
estate  which  legally  passed  entirely  from  his  control  when 
his  child  died;  and  he  cared  for  no  justification  in  any  thing 
he  might  do,  except  success.  If,  by  any  means,  he  could 
take  rank  with  his  elder  brother  by  reviving  the  title  of  his 
deceased  wife's  ancestors,  or  by  special  favor  for  distinguished 
services,  it  was  all  the  same,  whether  the  means  were  foul  or 
fair  by  which  he  accomplished  it.  The  great,  overruling  idea, 
that  the  nobility  was  not  subordinate  to  any  of  the  rules  of 
morality  or  honesty  that  obtained  outside  of  that  privileged 
class,  had  entirely  obscured  any  moral  sense  with  which 
Nature  might  have  endowed  him,  and  which,  under  the  social 
system  in  which  he  had  been  educated,  he  had  been  taught 
to  despise,  and  exorcise  from  his  character. 

His  mind  being  thus  agitated,  and  his  conscience  being 
thus  easy  as  to  the  means  employed  in  the  attainment  of  his 
object,  what  more  natural  than  that  the  thought  should  oc- 
cur to  him  of  substituting  the  living  child  for  that  which  was 
dead?  The  idea  was  no  sooner  conceived  than  his  resolu- 
tion was  taken.  He  was  sitting  in  the  cabin  of  the  ship, 
muffled  up,  and  gruffly  musing  and  muttering  to  bimsclij 
when  first  the  idea  was  suggested  to  his  mind.  The  child, 
in  its  nurse's  arms,  was  in  the  cabin ;  and  its  fair  blue  eyes, 
and  delicate,  beautiful  complexion,  so  impressed  him  that 
morning,  that  he  resolved  to  make  it  his  own,  and  thus,  as  he 
hoped,  appease  the  spirit  of  its  mother,  and  carry  out  his 
own  ambitious  schemes.  That  night  the  wind  was  high,  and 
the  ship  was  studding  along  before  it  at  a  merry  rate.  The 
fogs  of  the  Great  Bank  were  so  thick,  that  the  man  at  the 
bow  could  see  but  a  few  feet  before  him ;  and  the  light  at 
the  foretop  could  scarcely  be  seen  at  the  distance  of  the 
ship's  length.  It  was  eleven  o'clock  at  night,  and  every 
thing jseemed  quiet:  nothing  but  the  sound  of  the  wind, 
as  it  waved  through  the  rigging,  could  be  heard.  At  this 
hour,  Cumberland  went  on  deck.  The  men  at  the  wheel  were 
standing  silent  and  rigid  at  their  duty.  The  mate  was  mov- 
ing about  on  the  poop-deck.     The  men  of  the  watch  were 


72  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY: 

crowding  in  corners  and  nooks  to  avoid  the  blast.  Cumber- 
land returned  to  his  state-room,  and  taking  from  under  his 
berth  a  tin  case  two  feet  and  a  half  long,  a  foot  wide, 
and  some  ten  inches  deep,  went  again  on  deck,  and,  unob- 
served by  a  single  soul,  threw  the  box  into  the  sea.  That 
night,  no  vision  appeared  to  him ;  and,  for  the  first  time  since 
the  tragedy  of  Gault's  Hill,  he  slept  soundly  in  his  berth. 

After  that  he  spoke  of  the  child  as  his  own  to  the  nurse, 
and  to  the  officers  of  the  ship ;  and  he  hoped  that  the  aven- 
ging spirit  of  the  mother  was  appeased,  and  would  trouble 
him  no  more.  But,  the  next  night  after  casting  into  the  sea 
the  box  containing  the  remains  of  his  own  child,  the  appari- 
tion re-appeared  with  more  terrible  distinctness  than  on  any 
preceding  night  of  the  voyage. 

In  due  time  the  "  Royal  Edward  "  arrived  at  Portsmouth ; 
and  lest  the  Canadian  nurse  might  have  some  suspicions  or 
knowledge  of  the  child  that  was  to  pass  as  his  own,  he  dis- 
charged her,  and  engaged  another,  who  could  have  neither 
knowledge  nor  suspicion.  The  daughter  of  David  Gault,  he 
did  not  doubt,  would  pass  as  his  own,  without  question, 
among  his  friends.  It  was  a  much  handsomer  child:  but  there 
was  not  one  of  his  relations  who  had  ever  seen  the  other ; 
and  all  they  knew  of  it  was  from  the  letters  its  mother  had 
written  praising  its  blue  eyes  and  light  flaxen  hair.  Fortu- 
nately for  his  plans,  the  hair  and  eyes  of  the  living  child  were 
not  dissimilar  to  those  of  her  whose  body  he  had  cast  into 
the  sea.  He  made  his  way  directly  to  his  former  home, 
where  he  found  his  relatives,  and  those  of  his  deceased  wife, 
eager  to  welcome  him,  and  surprised  to  find  the  child  so  fair, 
since  its  mother  was  any  thing  but  a  beauty.  Even  the  rel- 
atives of  the  deceased  wife  said  the  child  took  after  her  fa- 
ther, rather  than  her  mother.  They  also  remarked  the  great 
change  that  had  come  over  him  during  his  absence ;  and  his 
haggard,  emaciated  appearance  they  attributed  not  so  much 
to  fatigue  in  the  service  as  grief  for  the  deceased  Lady  Cum- 
berland. His  constant  habit  of  averting  his  eyes  from  some 
apparent  object  that  was  invisible  to  them  was  observed, 
but  ascribed  to  some  nervous  affection.  No  one  ever  ques- 
tioned him  upon  it. 

If  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  that  the  people 
of  the  United  States  have  to  be  thankful  for,  it  is  that  so 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  (  73 

few  members  of  the  ruling  families  of  England  ever  settled 
in  America.  A  few  of  the  old  Cavaliers,  descendants  of  the 
followers  of  Charles  I.  and  the  flatterers  of  James  II.,  came 
over  at  an  early  day,  and  brought  with  them  their  class  pre- 
judices and  principles.  They  regarded  the  generality  of 
mankind  as  made  out  to  serve  the  pleasure  of  the  king,  his 
courtiers  and  courtesans.  They  held  to  the  divine  right  of 
prescription,  —  that  the  king  was  responsible  to  God,  and 
God  only ;  and,  if  he  chose  to  act  the  part  of  a  tyrant  and 
destroyer,  the  people  had  no  right  to  complain,  as  the  crown 
owed  no  responsibility  to  the  multitude  over  which  a  higher 
power  had  ordained  it  to  rule.  The  malign  influence  of  the 
few  who  did  come  was  mostly  confined  to  the  South;  and 
the  ideas  ingrained  in  the  blood  and  bone  of  their  ancestors 
—  that  they  were  born  to  rule,  and  live  without  toil,  and  to 
look  with  contempt  on  labor  and  laborers  —  has  had,  from  its 
early  settlement,  a  most  baneful  influence  on  our  country. 
Nor  is  it  yet  extinct.  Of  those  who  settled  in  Virginia,  many 
were  early  in  their  opposition  to  the  crown  in  the  war  of 
the  Revolution ;  not  foreseeing  that  triumph  of  democracy 
to  which  independence  would  lead.  Conceiving  themselves 
to  be  born  lords  of  the  domain,  they  supposed  their  claims 
would  be  none  the  less  recognized  after  Independence  than 
before;  and,  in  gloomy  and  sullen  acquiescence,  they  sub- 
sided, after  the  war,  into  the  position  which  the  popular  gov- 
ernment, the  fruit  of  the  Puritan  element  of  the  North,  ren- 
dered inevitable.  Having  obtained  early  grants  of  land 
from  the  crown,  their  descendants  had  that  power  and  influ- 
ence that  wealth  confers ;  but,  lacking  the  enterprise  and 
spirit  of  adaptation  of  the  self-made  men  of  the  North, 
their  political  influence  diminished  in  a  still  greater  ratio 
than  their  relative  wealth.  And  they  never  could  divest 
themselves  of  the  idea  that  they  were  the  rightful  rulers 
of  the  land;  and  that  there  was  something  wrong  in  the  sys- 
tem that  rendered  it  necessary  for  the  son  of  a  Cavalier, 
whose  grandfather's  skull  had  been  cracked  by  one  of  Crom- 
well's psalm-singing  Roundheads,  to  sit  in  the  national 
councils  with  a  descendant  of  that  landless  Roundhead  who 
had  been  guilty  of  so  disloyal  an  act.  Fortunately,  how- 
ever, for  the  country,  there  was,  even  among  them,  a  demo- 
cratic element  that  was  largely  influential,  more  from  the  tal- 
ents and  virtues  of  its  representatives  than  from  any  family 

7 


74  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

prestige.  Of  these,  the  most  conspicuous  were  Jefferson,  Hen- 
ry, and  George  Washington.  These  men,  and  those  who  sym- 
pathized with  them,  were  from  a  different  class  in  the  old 
country  from  the  Fairfaxes  and  Dinwiddies.  They  repudiat- 
ed alike  the  divine  right  of  kings  once  held  by  the  people 
of  England,  and  the  divine  right  of  the  nobility  as  held  now 
by  them  and  the  government  dependants,  and  acquiesced  in 
by  the  nation  at  large.  The  power  of  the  throne  has  been 
absorbed  by  the  aristocracy ;  and  its  successive  occupants 
for  many  years  have  been  persons  of  so  little  enterprise,  so 
little  individuality  of  character,  so  little  idea  of  their  own 
insignificance,  and  the  manner  in  which  all  power  has  been 
taken  away,  that  now  the  crown  is  nothing,  —  nothing  but 
a  popular  idol  to  the  multitude ;  and  the  monarch  who  wears 
it  is  but  an  automaton,  that  is  made  to  speak  the  will  of  the 
aristocracy. 

But  in  spite  of  the  bright  examples  of  Washington, 
Henry,  and  others  of  equal  patriotism  and  scarcely  less  re- 
nown, the 'influence  of  wealth  among  the  early  Virginians 
was  sufficient  to  imbue  many  of  those  of  a  different  an- 
cestry with  many  of  their  aristocratic  ideas ;  and  as  many 
of  the  adventurers,  who  had  been  induced  to  leave  their 
country  for  their  country's  good,  had  been  prosperous  in  the 
acquisition  of  property,  in  some  instances  rivalling  the  Cava- 
liers in  wealth,  they  had  a  natural  desire  to  have  families  of 
their  own ;  and,  as  it  was  not  altogether  prudent  for  them  to 
return  to  the  old  country,  they  contracted  with  shipping 
merchants  to  have  young  women  sent  out  to  the  colony  for 
the  liquidated  sum  of  one  hundred  pounds  of  good  Virginia 
tobacco.  The  first  that  came  were  eagerly  caught  up  by 
these  successful  colonists,  who  had  enjoyed  to  so  great  an 
extent,  years  before,  the  consideration  of  the  Government, 
that  it  had  sent  them  to  the  colony  at  its  own  expense. 
These  people  then  formed  the  class  that  constituted  the  first 
families  of  Virginia.  Subsequently  other  cargoes  of  mar- 
riageable women  were  sent  over ;  but,  as  the  demand  dimin- 
ished, the  price  fell,  and,  instead  of  one  hundred,  the  ship- 
pers could  get  only  seventy-five  pounds  of  the  Virginia  leaf. 
Those  who  took  these  later  importations,  therefore,  consti- 
tuted and  were  known  as  the  second  families  of  Virginia. 
In  the  course  of  the  next  one  or  two  generations,  however, 
the  descendants  intermarried  promiscuously,  and  all  traces 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  75 

of  the  second  families  disappeared :  all  were  first-family 
Virginians.  A  rumor  gained  currency  a  few  years  ago,  that 
a  lineal  descendant  of  one  of  the  second  families  had  been 
discovered  by  that  indefatigable  searcher  after  curiosities, 
P.  T.  Barnum ;  but,  after  diligent  inquiry,  it  was  found  to 
be  only  one  of  the  tricks  of  the  famous  showman  to  draw 
visitors  to  his  museum.  Though  a  wicked  imposition,  it 
brought  great  numbers  to  the  show,  and  would  have  contin- 
ued to  do  so  much  longer  but  for  the  reason  that  it  was 
pushed  into  the  shade  by  the  superior  attractions  of  the 
"What  is  it?"  The  race  of  the  second  families  became  ex- 
tinct more  than  forty  years  ago,  as  was  verified  on  oath  to 
Barnum  by  the  veracious  Joice  Heth. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this  historical  figment  thus  intro- 
duced into  the  body  of  a  novel,  that  it  does  not  stand  to 
reason  that  so  large  a  class  could  be  so  suddenly  extin- 
guished ;  or,  in  other  words,  that  so  many  common  people 
could,  in  the  course  of  one  or  two  generations,  become  mem- 
bers of  the  aristocracy.  But  our  country  has  seen  even 
greater  changes  than  this  in  other  parts.  A  witty  traveller 
in  this  country  has  remarked,  as  the  result  of  his  observa- 
tions in  that  city  which  is  known  as  the  "  Porkopolis "  of 
the  West,  that  there  the  common  people  are  those  who  kill 
pigs  for  a  living ;  that  the  aristocracy  are  those  whose  fath- 
ers killed  pigs  for  a  living ;  and  that  the  latter  look  down 
most  contemptuously  on  the  former  as  having  no  honorable 
antecedents,  and  bristle  up  with  a  grunt  whenever  allusion 
is  made  to  the  price  of  lard,  or  the  philosophy  of  Bacon  is 
contrasted  with  that  of  Aristotle. 

It  may  have  been  fortunate  and  it  may  have  been  unfortu- 
nate for  England  that  a  refuge  was  opened  in  the  New  World 
for  the  radicals  and  innovators  who  initiated  the  revolution 
that  culminated  in  the  death  of  Charles  I.  Had  the  escape 
been  more  easy,  Cromwell  would  certainly  never  have  been 
Lord  Protector,  nor  would  Hampden  ever  have  shed  that 
blood,  at  Marston  Moor  that  was  to  prove  the  seed  of  civil 
liberty  and  religious  toleration.  The  idea  of  greater  freedom 
to  the  people,  and  less  prescription  to  the  king,  was  deeply 
fixed  in  the  minds  of  the  middle  classes  before  the  faithless 
head  of  Charles  was  brought  to  the  block;  and  after 
the  death  of  Cromwell,  though  the  nation  rushed  madly  and 
eagerly  back  to   despotism,  it  was   not  easy  to   obliterate 


76  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

from  the  minds  of  the  earnest  men  of  the  time  those  convic- 
tions which  had  led  them,  through  so  long  and  desperate  a 
war,  to  that  freedom  and  equality  before  the  law,  under  the 
protectorate,  which  they  had  never  before  enjoyed.  With 
these  ideas,  when  they  found  the  nation  going  back  so  precipi- 
tately and  stupidly  to  despotism,  and  saw  people  who  had  en- 
joyed liberty  under  Cromwell  thrusting  their  necks,  not  pas- 
sively, but  eagerly,  under  the  yoke  of  the  false  and  treacherous 
Stuarts,  the  leaders  and  radicals  left  for  the  New  World.  They 
were  men  without  fame  or  name  at  home,  except  of  being  bad 
subjects,  blindly  insensible  of  the  blessings  of  a  government 
that  was  instituted  by  divine  power,  and  restored  by  special 
interposition.  Left  without  the  influence  of  these  leading 
spirits,  their  more  passive  followers  yielded  acquiescence  to 
the  reigning  powers,  until  the  tyranny  and  intolerance  of  the 
crown  broke  through  the  thick  crust  of  conceit  that  hedged 
in  the  brains  of  the  nobility,  and  let  in  the  idea  that  a  king 
who  could  be  controlled  by  no  earthly  power  was  a  very 
doubtful  blessing.  Had  all  those  men  of  busy  minds  and 
advanced  ideas  of  government  remained  in  England  during 
the  reign  of  Charles  II.  and  James  II.,  and  the  influence  of 
such  characters  as  developed  in  the  New  World  been  walled 
in  by  the  sea  that  surrounds  the  British  isles,  it  is  not  unlikely, 
that,  when  the  time  came  that  compelled  a  general  effort  to 
dispose  of  the  Stuarts,  they  would  have  been  strong  enough 
to  have  dispelled  entirely  the  illusion  of  the  divine  right  of 
kings,  instead  of  transferring  it  from  the  throne  to  the  House 
of  Peers,  from  the  king  to  the  nobility.  But  it  was  not 
so  to  be ;  and  speculations  on  the  subject  may  be  curious,  but 
they  can  never  educe  a  fact. 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  77 


CHAPTER    VI. 

rt  But  thou  who  own'st  that  earthly  hed, 
Ah  I  what  will  every  dirge  avail  ? 
Or  tears  which  love  and  pity  shed, 
That  mourn  beneath  the  gliding  sail  ?  "—  Collins. 

The  events  succeeding  the  death  of  Robert  Gomery  were 
as  commonplace  and  matter-of-fact  as  could  well  be  imagined, 
even  by  one  whose  whole  life  had  been  passed  in  that  most 
staid  and  matter-of-fact  land,  New  England.  The  shadow 
of  death  had  passed  the  threshold,  and  left  a  deep  trace  of 
sorrow ;  but  the  experience  of  several  generations  had 
taught  the  people  of  that  day  to  rely  on  their  own  exertions 
and  firmly  do  their  duty  if  they  would  expect  Providence  to 
smile  on  their  labors  or  answer  their  prayers.  In  spiritual 
matters,  they  put  unhesitating  faith  in  divine  influences,  but 
did  not  believe  that  any  supernatural  interference  would  be 
vouchsafed  to  save  them  from  the  effects  of  neglect  of  their 
temporal  affairs.  The  pithy  advice  of  the  great  Crom- 
well to  his  soldiers,  to  "  trust  in  God,  and  keep  their  powder 
dry,"  illustrates  with  great  force  as  well  as  brevity,  and  in 
few  words  epitomizes,  the  religion  and  the  lives  of  the  Puri- 
tans. They  believed  in  special  providences  manifested  in 
the  saving  grace  rather  than  in  the  saving  money,  and  had 
small  faith  in  hearing  and  believing  if  they  were  not  doers 
as  well.  So,  when  affliction  came  in  the  form  of  death,  they 
did  not  consider  it  so  important  to  say  masses  for  the  dead 
as  to  do  their  duties  unshrinkingly  to  the  living.  Huldah 
Gomery  was  one  deeply  imbued  with  these  ideas ;  and,  though 
the  loss  of  a  husband  whom  she  loved  and  respected  was  a 
terrible  blow,  she  saw  that  she  had  duties  to  perform  to  the 
living,  that  must  be  neglected  if  she  gave  way  to  unavailing 
grief.  She  had  no  time  for  vain  regrets  for  the  dead ;  and,  if 
she  indulged  in  them,  it  must  be  to  the  neglect  and  wrong 
of  those  who  now  might  justly  doubly  claim  all  her  care. 
7* 


78  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

Her  children  now  required  all  her  attention,  and  in  them  all 
her  hopes  were  centred.  These  children  gave  that  early 
promise  which  fully  justified  in  other  than  parental  eyes  the 
good  care  and  love,  as  well  as  high  hopes,  which  she  mani- 
fested for  them. 

But  another  great  sorrow  was  in  store  for  Huldah  Gomery. 
Her  daughter  Eunice,  within  two  years  after  the  death  of  her 
father,  was  laid  in  the  graveyard  beside  him.  Early  in  the 
spring  that  succeeded  his  death,  she  had  often  resorted 
to  his  grave,  before  the  earth  was  dry  and  warm  above 
it ;  and,  in  company  with  her  brother,  she  had  spent  many 
hours  in  beautifying  the  grounds  around  it;  planting  seeds 
of  the  primrose  and  the  myrtle,  and  transplanting  the  earli- 
est violets  that  struggled  into  flower  at  the  sunny  side  of  im- 
pending rocks.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  she  had  ventured 
out  in  thin  shoes  at  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  had  become  so 
busy  in  her  pious  task  that  she  forgot  her  mother's  warning, 
till  the  cold  March  wind  of  evening  struck  a  chill  through 
her  frame.  She  returned  at  once  to  the  house,  and  the  next 
day  was  prostrate  with  cold  and  fever.  She  recovered  from 
them  both ;  but  the  seeds  of  consumption  were  implanted  in 
her  constitution,  and  a  year  and  a  half  from  that  day  she 
became  a  tenant  of  that  graveyard  which  her  own  hands 
had,  in  filial  piety,  labored  to  adorn. 

The  Montgomery  property,  at  the  time  of  the  proprietor's 
death,  was  every  year  rising  in  value.  The  liberal  policy 
which  he  had  pursued  in  his  lifetime  toward  settlers  had 
drawn  in  a  considerable  population ;  so  that  it  was  the  most 
thriving  interior  village  within  a  radius  of  more  than  sixty 
miles.  But,  in  order  to  make  his  improvements  at  the  mills, 
he  had  been  obliged  to  incur  heavy  debts ;  and  it  was  debated 
seriously  between  the  widow  and  her  friends,  whether  it 
would  not  be  better  to  sell  off  the  village  property,  including 
the  mills  and  water-power,  releasing  all  mortgages,  and  leav- 
ing the  farm  unencumbered.  But  Huldah,  believing  that  she 
could  manage  the  whole  estate  to  profit  until  Freeborn  came 
of  age  to  assist  her,  objected  to  any  sale  whatever.  She  was 
confident  she  could  make  the  improvements  pay  off  their 
cost,  and  that  then  she  should  have  the  whole  property  to 
herself  and  children.  Her  success  fully  justified  her  estimate 
of  her  own  business  capacity  and  tact ;  for,  when  Freeborn 
had  reached  the  age  of  sixteen,  the  whole  property  was  free 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  79 

and  unencumbered.  Freeborn,  however,  was  but  little 
inclined  to  give  his  attention  to  the  business  of  the  estate. 
He  was  more  inclined  to  books  than  business ;  and  his  mother, 
ambitious  and  proud  of  him,  though  she  much  needed  his  aid 
in  the  administration  of  affairs,  gladly  encouraged  his  more 
elevated  tastes.  She  formed  high  hopes  of  future  eminence 
for  him,  and  imagined  that,  instead  of  confining  his  talents 
to  the  routine  of  trade  and  accounts,  he  would  one  day  fill 
some  exalted  position  in  the  Government.  Like  most  Ameri- 
can mothers,  she  thought  that  very  likely  he  would  be,  at 
least,  a  governor  of  a  State,  and  possibly  president  of  the 
whole  Union. 

Freeborn  was  accordingly  sent  away  to  an  academy  to 
prepare  for  college ;  and  had  nearly  accomplished  this  part 
of  his  education,  when,  unfortunately,  the  mills  took  fire  one 
night,  and  were  burnt  to  the  ground.  The  college  course 
was  given  up ;  and  Freeborn  dutifully  devoted  himself  for  the 
next  three  years  to  the  work  of  rebuilding  the  mills,  on 
which  his  mother  was  determined,  and  to  lightening  the  mater- 
nal cares  and  responsibilities.  He  became  the  active  business 
manager  of  the  estate,  and  was  soon  known  as  Gomery  of 
Montgomery. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-one,  Freeborn  was  still  bent  on  study- 
ing a  profession ;  and,  as  the  affairs  of  the  family  estate  were 
in  a  flourishing  condition,  he  went  away  from  home  to  a 
distant  town  to  read  law  with  a  famous  lawyer  of  his  day, 
who  afterwards  became  chief  justice  of  the  State.  When 
I  say  that  this  learned  pundit  had  three  daughters,  aged 
seventeen,  nineteen,  and  twenty-one,  respectively,  —  all  three 
famous  for  their  beauty,  grace,  and  vivacity,  and  afterwards 
to  become  more  famous  as  matrons  and  leaders  in  society,  —  I 
leave  it  to  be  inferred  that  Freeborn  Gomery  learned  some- 
thing more  than  law  during  his  sojourn  away  from  home. 
But  sundry  chapters  must  intervene  before  I  relate  the  par- 
ticulars of  this  part  of  his  life;  though  I  may  now  admit,  that, 
at  a  subsequent  period,  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Mackenzie 
sisters  accompanied  him  to  his  home  at  Montgomery. 


80  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER   VII. 

•*  Friendship  is  constant  in  all  other  things 
Save  in  the  office  and  affairs  of  love : 
Therefore  all  hearts  in  love  use  their  own  tongues. 
Let  every  eye  negotiate  for  itself, 
And  trust  no  other  agent." —Much  Ado  about  Nothing. 

During  the  time  that  Freeborn  Gomery  was  away  from 
home,  storing  his  mind  with  a  knowledge  of  the  law,  the 
country  in  the  vicinity  of  his  birthplace  continued  rapidly  to 
improve.  Settlers  were  constantly  coming  in  from  different 
parts,  purchasing  land,  and  making  themselves  homes.  Roads 
were  made  in  various  directions,  large  tracts  of  land  were 
cleared,  and  the  hardy  settlers  were  fast  emerging  from 
the  trials  of  frontier  life  to  the  comforts  of  civilization.  The 
arrival  of  so  many  emigrants  from  farther  south  created  a 
demand  for  land,  and  increased  its  value ;  and  the  saw-mills 
at  Montgomery  were  busy  in  sawing  up  into  boards,  planks, 
shingles,  and  clapboards,  the  stately  pines  that  grew  in  great 
numbers  near  by.  The  grist-mills  were  also  kept  running 
day  and  night  in  grinding  up  the  corn,  wheat,  and  rye  that 
were  now  produced  in  abundant  crops  by  the  neighboring 
farmers.  As  has  been  before  stated,  a  large  part  of  the  ori- 
ginal Gomery  Estate  in  the  vicinity  of  the  village  had  been 
sold  off  to  the  settlers,  though  the  old  home  on  the  hill  had 
been  reserved  by  the  widow  as  a  homestead.  Freeborn 
Gomery,  on  his  return  to  his  native  place,  after  having  been 
admitted  to  the  bar,  became  at  once  the  most  important  man 
in  the  vicinity;  but,  much  to  his  mother's  disappointment, 
he  had  very  little  ambition  for  distinction  or  notoriety.  He 
had  no  desire  for  public  life,  but  was  rather  inclined  to  prac- 
tise his  profession.  His  mother  was  far  more  ambitious  than 
he,  and  had  so  exalted  an  opinion  of  his  abilities,  that  she 
expected  at  one  time  to  live  to  see  him  the  great  man  of 
the  State,  if  not  of  the  nation,  instead  of  the  little  village 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  81 

of  Montgomery.  But  Freeborn  did  not  enter  into  any  of 
her  ambitious  schemes.  His  plan  of  life  was  far  happier 
than  hers.  He  would  have  a  home,  for  which  he  had  already 
selected  a  partner;  and  would  look  for  life's  enjoyments  in  the 
home  circle,  rather  than  in  the  noise  and  strife  of  the  world. 
But,  as  he  knew  a  life  of  idleness  was  not  intended  for  man's 
happiness,  he  determined  to  engage  in  the  practice  of  the 
law;  and,  accordingly,  he  opened  an  office  in  the  village,  and 
over  the  door  of  it  this  sign  was  placed:  "F.  Gomery, 
Attorney  at  Law."  He  still  lived  at  the  Perch ;  and  every 
morning,  at  about  sunrise,  he  might  be  seen  clattering  down 
the  road  on  a  stout  nag;  and,  when  he  reached  the  level  ground, 
he  would  strike  into  a  brisk  gallop,  and  sweep  up  through 
the  village,  to  the  great  admiration  of  the  milkmaids,  who 
were  sure  to  be  out  to  catch  a  nod  and  a  merry  word  from 
the  dashing  young  attorney.  He  was  a  model  horseman,  six 
feet  two  in  height ;  and  his  figure,  athletic  and  graceful, 
showed  to  great  advantage  as  he  cantered  up  through  the 
town  on  his  stout  bay.  His  features,  however,  were  neither 
regular  nor  handsome.  His  nose  was  large,  his  cheek  bones 
high,  his  chin  massive,  and  his  lips  heavy  and  firm,  showing 
more  of  firmness  than  energy  of  character. 

The  young  lawyer  had  no  sooner  opened  his  office  than 
business  came  rushing  in  upon  him.  In  those  early  days  of 
the  town's  settlement,  the  boundary-lines  between  the  settlers 
were  not  clearly  defined  and  established ;  and  hence  there 
was  much  litigation  between  neighbors  before  each  knew 
what  was  legally  his  own.  Then  there  were,  annually,  sev- 
eral "training-days,"  and  one  "general  muster"  of  the  mili- 
tia of  the  surrounding  country ;  and,  as  they  seldom  passed 
without  more  or  less  fights  and  knock-downs,  much  law 
business  resulted  from  these  patriotic  meetings,  which,  as  they 
had  been  convoked  by  law,  were  settled  by  the  law,  and  Law- 
yer Gomery  was  soon  in  a  profitable  practice.  His  legal 
business  so  crowded  upon  him,  and  so  completely  absorbed 
his  time,  that  he  could  give  little  or  no  attention  to  the  affairs 
of  the  mills  and  other  village  property ;  and  therefore,  taking 
advantage  of  a  period  of  great  prosperity,  when  speculation 
ran  high,  he  prevailed  on  his  mother  to  sell  it  all  out,  and 
convert  the  money  realized  from  it  into  something  that  would 
require  less  care  and  attention.  The  shire-town,  with  its 
county  court-house,  was  some  twenty  miles  from  Montgom- 


82  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

ery;  and  at  every  session  of  the  district  and  county  courts 
Freeborn  attended,  having  a  long  docket  of  cases  to  be  dis- 
poned of.  Except  in  the  winter-time,  when  there  was  snow 
on  the  ground,  he  always  went  to  court  on  horseback;  and 
his  neighbors  observed,  that,  after  the  term  was  over,  he 
would,  each  spring  and  fall,  be  away  from  home  some  ten 
days  longer  than  the  term  of  the  court.  The  secret  of  this 
was  soon  found  out ;  and  several  village  belles  learned,  to 
their  no  small  disappointment,  that  his  visits  to  the  south- 
ward were  no  compliment  to  them ;  and  their  efforts  to  get 
the  full  truth  of  the  matter  were  finally  rewarded  by  an  ad- 
mission from  Freeborn's  mother,  that  her  son  was  engaged  to 
the  second  daughter  of  Judge  Mackenzie  of  Pittstown,  and 
that  they  were  to  be  married  oneHyear  from  the  coming  au- 
tumn. The  good  woman  was  highly  pleased  at  the  prospect 
of  this  match  ;  for  she  did  not  think  any  of  the  neighboring 
damsels  at  all  worthy  of  so  great  a  catch  as  her  Freeborn. 

Though  a  considerable  portion  of  the  original  Gault  or 
Gomery  Tract  had  been  sold  off,  especially  of  that  part  near- 
est the  village,  yet  there  was  one  spot  on  it  which  Freeborn 
would  never  consent  to  have  sold,  though  willing  to  sell 
other  lots  at  their  value.  This  spot  was  about  half  the  dis- 
tance from  the  village  to  the  old  house,  and  a  little  back  from 
the  direct  road  between  the  two.  It  appeared  to  be  a  sort 
of  hillock,  or  knoll,  upon  that  side  of  the  great  hill;  and  was 
the  most  commanding  and  beautiful  spot  in  all  the  neighbor- 
ing country,  save  only  the  site  of  the  old  house,  which  had, 
long  before,  charmed  the  eyes  of  David  Gault,  and  afterwards 
Robert  Gomery.  This  place  overlooked  the  village,  and  was 
in  full  view  of  the  old  homestead  and  the  "Arch  Fountain," 
and  wTas  called  the  "Pivot."  The  reason  of  Freeborn's 
unwillingness  to  sell  it  was  apparent  a  year  after  he  had 
commenced  practice  as  a  lawyer,  as  he  began  at  that  time 
to  make  preparations  for  building  himself  a  fine  house,  with 
barn,  stable,  and  out-buildings,  such  as  a  man  in  easy  circum- 
stances might  be  supposed  to  require. 

In  those  days,  the  style  of  architecture  was  in  most  vicious 
taste.  It  seemed  to  be  an  emanation  of  the  Puritan  severity 
and  straight-lacedness,  —  a  sort  of  ambitious  simplicity.  But 
it  was  a  style  universal  in  that  region,  and  no  house  was  con- 
sidered at  all  genteel  unless  it  conformed  to  it.  This  style 
required  that  a  house  should  be  of  two  stories ;  have  a  roof 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  83 

without  gables,  but  coming  to  a  point  in  the  centre ;  a  light 
cornice;  numerous  and  small  windows;  a  main  door  in  the 
centre  of  the  front,  opening  into  a  hall  that  led  on  either 
side  into  a  large  square  parlor.  The  internal  arrangement 
might  vary ;  but  the  outward  appearance  must  conform  to  one 
fixed,  unvarying  standard,  —  a  broad,  bare,  white  front,  re- 
lieved only  by  a  single  door:  and  the  windows  in  the  upper 
and  lower  stories  gave  the  structure  an  outward  appearance 
of  cheerlessness  and  frigidity,  frequently  very  incompatible 
with  the  warmth  and  hospitality  within.  In  the  centre  of 
the  house  was  an  immense  chimney-stack,  having  a  fireplace 
on  three  sides  below,  and  the  same  number  above.  The  fire- 
place of  the  kitchen  was  always  made  very  wide,  for  the 
purpose  of  accommodating  such  logs  of  wood  as  were  too 
large  and  gnarled  to  split  up ;  and  was  flanked  on  one  side  by 
an  ash-hole  and  oven,  that,  for  size,  might  have  vied  with-  a 
modern  steam-bakery.  The  other  sides  of  the  house  were. 
very  similar  to  the  front ;  and,  at  this  period,  the  extravagance 
of  blinds  was  scarcely  known.  Seen  at  a  distance,  a  house  as 
plain  as  this  did  not  make  a  bad  appearance  if  it  happened  to 
be  half  hidden  among  trees.  But  in  those  days  the  great  object 
of  people  was  to  get  trees  out  of  the  way,  and  land  was  re- 
garded more  valuable  the  less  vestige  of  the  forest  was  left 
upon  it.  It  is  not  remarkable,  therefore,  that  a  lawn  was  a 
luxury  to  the  eye,  and  that  people,  when  recollecting  so 
freshly  the  difficulty  and  toil  of  clearing  away  the  trees, 
regarded  them  as  a  blemish  in  any  landscape,  and  especially 
objectionable  if  they  hid  the  painted  front  of  a  house  from 
view. 

In  this  style  was  built  the  house  of  Freeborn  Gomery,  or 
"Gomery  of  Montgomery"  as  he  was  most  frequently  called. 
In  addressing  him,  he  was  called  the  "Squire,"  or  "Square," 
and  sometimes  Mr.  Gomery;  but  his  usual  appellation  was  the 
same  as  had  been  his  father's  before  him. 

The  house  and  out-buildings  were  all  completed  in  good 
time,  and  the  grounds  were  cleared  up,  the  stumps  of  trees 
removed,  new  fences  made,  a  large  front  yard,  a  lawn  fenced 
in;  and  the  place  had  a  more  pretending  ambitious  look  than 
any  other  within  many  miles.  Then  came,  to  the  astonish- 
ment if  not  envy  of  the  mothers  and  daughters  of  the  vil- 
lage, a  large  quantity  of  furniture,  of  finer  quality  than  had 
ever  been  seen  in  that  part  of  the  country  before ;  and  it 


84  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

all  went  direct  to  the  Pivot.  Finally,  the  fall  term  of  the 
court  came  on,  and  the  squire  left  to  attend  it ;  and  this 
time  he  was  gone  longer  than  ever  before.  It  was  known  at 
the  village  that  the  old  lady,  who,  with  a  sort  of  respectful 
familiarity,  was  called  "  Aunt  Huldah,"  had  been  at  the  new 
house  for  two  days  getting  it  in  order  for  occupancy ;  and 
everybody  in  the  town  asked  everybody  else,  as  often  as  he 
met  him,  when  Gomery  of  Montgomery  with  his  new  wife 
was  expected  to  arrive.  At  last  their  interest  in  their  neigh- 
bor's welfare  was  rewarded,  and  their  expectant  eyes  glad- 
dened by  the  familiar  sight  of  the  squire's  well-known  horse 
"Ticonderoga"  moving  up  through  the  principal  street,  draw- 
ing after  him  a  stylish  chaise,  in  which  were  seated  the  law- 
yer and  his  new  wife.  Beneath  the  carriage  was  suspended 
a  large  square  trunk,  which,  it  may  be  supposed,  contained 
those  articles  of  apparel  required  for  the  journey.  Every 
thing  else  had  been  sent  on  previously,  and  had  arrived  at 
the  Pivot  some  days  before;  and  had  been  all  arranged  and 
disposed  for  use,  ere  the  young  couple  appeared,  by  the  busy 
hand  of  Aunt  Huldah.  The  chaise  passed  directly  through 
the  village,  and  up  to  the  new  house  at  the  Pivot ;  and  you 
may  be  sure  the  talk  that  evening  through  the  village  was 
of  the  bride  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery.  But  two  persons 
in  the  village  had  got  a  glimpse  of  her  face ;  and  these  two 
differed  widely  in  opinion  respecting  her,  as  was  but  natural ; 
since  one  was  Belinda  Baker,  a  fair,  rosy,  buxom  lass,  who 
for  one  whole  season  had  scarcely  failed  a  single  morning  to 
cross  the  road  with  her  milking-pail  just  at  the  time  that  the 
young  lawyer  was  riding  by  on  his  powerful  "  Ticonderoga." 
As  he  always  had  a  merry  word  for  her,  she  had  for  a  while 
indulged  the  hope  that  she  would  distance  all  the  other 
belles  of  the  village,  and  catch  the  "  square."  The  person 
with  her,  who  likewise  saw  the  face  of  the  new  bride,  was 
Reuben  Stockman,  to  whom  she  had  become  engaged  when 
she  found  that  Gomery  did  not  duly  appreciate  her  charms. 
This  couple  were  taking  an  evening  stroll  between  sunset 
and  daylight-down;  and,  though  they  acknowledged  his  greet- 
ing, they  scarcely  looked  at  him,  so  staring  and  eager  were 
they  to  get  a  good  look  at  his  wife.  No  sooner  had  they 
passed  them  than  they  fell  to  discussing  her  looks.  Reuben 
thought  her  very  handsome.  Belinda  said,  "It  was  no  such 
thing,  and  that  she  didn't  think  that  a  man  like  Gomery  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  85 

Montgomery  need  go  away  two  hundred  miles  to  find  a 
great  deal  better -looking  woman  than  that.  And  I  know 
she  is  a  Tartar!"  said  she.  "Didn't  you  see  how  her  eyes 
flashed  fire  when  she  looked  at  me?" 

"No,"  replied  Reuben  :  "I  thought  she  had  the  sweetest 
look  I  ever  saw,  and  such  a  sweet  smile  !  No  wonder  she 
caught  the  square  !  " 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  can't  find  one  like  her,"  said  she  pet- 
tishly. 

"Might  do  worse  I  guess,"  he  replied;  to  which  Belinda 
was  about  to  answer  something  still  more  gingerly,  when 
they  were  hailed  by  a  voice  from  a  group  of  persons  near 
by,  and  asked  if  they  had  got  sight  of  the  squire  and  his 
wife.  Reuben  spoke  first,  and  said  "  they  had,  and  she  was 
a  darned  sight  the  harnsomest  woman  "ever  seen  in  Mont- 
gomery." 

"She  ain't,  nuther!"  said  Belinda.  "There's  lots  o'  girls 
here  harnsum  as  she." 

"  You  may  think  so,"  said  Reuben  ;  "  but  I  don't ;  and  I 
don't  blame  Freeborn  Gomery  for  goin'  away  to  get  a  wife 
like  that." 

"  I  should  be  ashamed !  I  s'pose  you  would  do  the  same 
if  you  could,"  said  she,  the  tears  filling  her  eyes. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  answered  he  as  the  two  turned  away 
from  the  group,  and  pursued  their  walk.  Reuben  accom- 
panied Belinda,  who  was  in  no  amiable  frame  of  mind,  to 
her  home  that  night.  What  passed  between  them  before 
they  reached  her  father's  house  is  not  known  to  the  writer 
of  this  history  ;  but  it  is  certain  the  match  was  broken  off, 
not  to  be  renewed  again  for  six  months,  when  negotiations 
were  opened,  and  a  marriage-treaty  finally  effected. 

There  was  wonderful  unanimity  of  opinion,  however,  re- 
garding the  lawyer's  new  bride,  when  all  had  seen  her,  in 
spite  of  the  adverse  judgment  of  Belinda  Baker;  and  even 
she  was  obliged  to  own,  that,  in  giving  her  first  impressions, 
she  was  prejudiced.  It  was  no  use  to  stand  out  against  a 
verdict  otherwise  unanimous ;  and  that  verdict  was,  that  the 
squire's  wife  was  a  marvel  of  beauty.  She  was  tall  and  grace- 
ful, with  hazel  eyes,  and  dark  hair  with  the  slightest  possible 
tinge  of  auburn.  Her  teeth  were  perfect,  her  lips  firm  and 
round,  and  moved  witchingly  to  let  escape  the  silvery  tones  of 
her  voice,  that  was  so  soft  and  winning,  it  was  no  wonder  that 

8 


00  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

the  sensitive  heart  of  Freeborn  Gomery  was  captivated  and 
inthralled.  Her  cheeks  were  not  only  rosy  and  fresh,  but 
rounded  out  with  those  curved  lines  of  highest  beauty  sel- 
dom seen  but  in  the  masterpieces  of  statuary;  and,  when 
a  smile  lit  up  the  ever-radiant  face,  the  prettiest  pair  of  dim- 
ples ever  seen  were  disclosed.  Indeed,  it  was  a  wonder 
that  Freeborn  Gomery,  with  all  his  advantages  of  wealth, 
talents,  and  position,  could  ever  win  a  lady  so  fair  as  she. 

The  good  people  of  Montgomery  Village  were  greatly 
pleased,  when  they  became  acquainted  with  the  squire's 
wife,  to  find  that  she  was  as  affable  and  condescending  as 
she  was  fair.  They  had  feared  she  would  be  distant  and 
haughty,  and  assume  such  airs  of  superiority  as  would  wither 
them  into  insignificance,  and,  which  was  worse,  silence ;  but 
she  was  all  courtesy  and  kindness  towards  them,  and  made 
the  acquaintance  of  all  the  village  people  in  a  way  that  won 
their  hearts.  She  was  so  extremely  affable  and  conde- 
scending as  even  to  shock  Aunt  Huldah.  The  old  lady 
seemed  to  think  it  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  wife  of  her  Free- 
born to  treat  certain  poor  people  so  familiarly  ;  but  the  young 
bride  seemed  to  find  it  a  great  pleasure  to  call  at  the  houses 
of  the  poorest,  and  go  in  without  ceremony,  chatting  with 
the  mothers,  talking  over  with  them  the  ailments  of  the 
children,  advising  with  the  fathers,  patting  the  heads  of  the 
little  ones,  and  shedding  a  halo  of  light  and  joy  that  seemed 
to  linger  in  the  house  for  days  after  she  had  departed.  She 
participated  in  the  tea-drinking  parties  of  the  village,  and 
always  found  something  to  especially  praise  in  the  house- 
keeping qualities  of  her  hostess.  If  a  ball  was  got  up,  she 
was  sure  to  attend  ;  and  she  and  her  husband  led  down  the 
dance  with  as  brisk  and  reckless  gleesomeness  as  the  young 
lads  and  lasses  just  out  with  their  new  clothes. 

Gomery  of  Montgomery  was  now  a  happy  man.  His  busi- 
ness was  sufficient  to  keep  him  employed  through  the  day, 
and  his  evenings  at  home  were  seasons  of  unalloyed  delight. 
He  wanted  for  nothing.  His  opinion  was  respected  by  all 
his  neighbors;  and,  if  not  universally  popular,  it  was  because 
in  his  professional  duties  he  had  had  occasion  to  rebuke  in- 
justice and  extortion.  He  was  beloved  by  all  he  could  re- 
spect; and  for  the  opinions  of  others  he  cared  little. 

The  dozen  years  that  followed  were  of  that  placid  kind 
that  leave  only  pleasant  memories.     There  were  no  ups  and 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  87 

downs  in  his  career.  The  days  passed  as  monotonously  as 
those  who  would  always  have  to-morrow  the  same  as  to-day 
could  desire.  Those  regular  increments  to  the  family  that 
serve  to  give  interest  and  variety  to  the  home-circle  made 
their  appearance  with  biennial  certainty ;  and,  at  the  end  of 
ten  years  after  Freeborn  Gomery  had  brought  his  bride  to 
his  new  home,  there  were  four  children  that  played  around 
his  hearthstone,  —  two  daughters  and  two  sons,  the  boys 
being  younger  than  the  girls,  and  the  youngest  two  years 
old  :  but  the  season  came  and  went,  and  there  was  no  ad- 
dition to  the  number  this  year,  nor  the  next,  nor  the  next. 

And  so  the  world  moved  on  with  this  family  as  the  wise 
would  desire  to  have  it,  —  devoid  of  incident  to  ruffle  the  calm 
stream  of  events.  "  Blessed,"  says  Montesquieu,  "  is  that  peo- 
ple whose  annals  are  written  in  water;"  and  blessed  is  that 
family,  that,  holding  fast  to  the  golden  mean,  knows  neither 
the  anxieties  of  the  ambitious  and  great,  or  of  the  suffering 
and  poor.  So  it  was  with  the  family  of  Freeborn  Gomery 
for  the  first  twenty  years  of  his  married  life ;  and  yet,  happy 
as  his  life  had  been,  his  mother,  Aunt  Huldah,  had  never  felt 
satisfied  with  his  career.  In  her  opinion,  he  had  the  intellect- 
ual capacity  to  become  one  of  the  great  men  of  the  nation ; 
and,  if  he  would  only  aspire  to  a  leading  position  in  the  coun- 
try, she  did  not  question  his  ability  to  reach  it.  But  Free- 
born had  more-  sense  and  less  ambition  than  his  mother ;  and 
at  last,  when  the  old  lady  saw  how  contented  a  life  he  led, 
and  looked  upon  his  increasing  family,  that  each  year  de- 
manded more  of  his  attention,  she  resigned  herself  to  his 
indifference  to  fame,  and  consoled  herself  with  the  hope 
that  his  children  would  be  more  ambitious.  She  still  con- 
tinued to  live  in  the  old  house  at  the  Perch  on  the  hill, 
and  superintended  the  conduct  of  the  farm,  though  she  spent 
nearly  half  her  time  at  the  Pivot  with  her  grandchildren, 
making  herself  more  busy  than  useful,  but  always  welcome. 

But,  whatever  her  disappointments  and  troubles,  they  all 
came  to  an  end  some  fifteen  years  after  her  son's  marriage. 
At  this  time,  when  little  past  fifty  years  of  age,  and  appar- 
ently in  the  full  vigor  of  life  and  health,  she  was  suddenly 
taken  down  with  a  fever  of  the  most  violent  typhoid  charac- 
ter; and,  in  spite  of  all  that  affection  and  attention  could  do, 
in  three  weeks  she  breathed  her  last. 

Some  folks  said  of  Freeborn  Gomery  that  he  did  not  show 


88  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY: 

half  so  much  grief  and  sorrow  on  this  occasion  as  was  to 
have  been  expected  from  one  who  had  ever  exhibited  so 
much  affection  and  filial  regard  to  his  mother  while  living. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  crying  and  lamentation  among  the 
children  ;  but  the  tears  shed  by  Freeborn  and  his  wife  were 
not  seen  by  the  public.  They  both  wore  a  look  of  calm 
sorrow  on  the  day  of  the  funeral,  and,  when  it  was  over,  pur- 
sued their  usual  avocations  sadly,  though  calmly,  as  if  nothing 
unusual  had  transpired.  It  was  frequently  remarked  in  the 
village,  that,  after  all  Freeborn  Gomery's  pretended  regard 
for  his  mother,  he  did  not,  when  the  pinch  came,  show  half 
so  much  love  for  her  as  did  Tom  Homer,  two  months  before, 
for  his  mother,  notwithstanding  he  had  sent  her  off  to  die  at 
the  poorhouse  as  soon  as  she  got  too  weak  and  feeble  to  do 
any  more  work.  This  remark  was  made  in  the  store  of  Ira 
Morris,  the  day  after  the  funeral,  by  Stephen  Gifford,  to 
Henry  Fisher,  a  son  of  our  old  acquaintance  Asa. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Fisher,  "that  it  is  any  great  sign  of 
love  to  cry  for  those  that  we  didn't  care  for  when  alive.  My 
'pinion  is,  it  is  remorse,  and  not  love,  that  makes  the  tears  come. 
You  may  say  what  you  like  about  Tom  Homer:  I  say  nothing 
against  him.  He  pays  his  debts,  and  does  as  he  agrees;  and, 
next  to  the  square,  he  is  the  richest  man  in  this  county.  He  has 
got  but  two  children  in  the  world;  and  I  say  that  when  he  let 
his  old  mother,  who  had  worked  and  slaved  all  her  life  to  get 
the  property,  go  to  the  poorhouse,  it  was  a  shame ;  and  it  is 
no  wonder,  that,  when  he  saw  her  poor  old  withered  body 
in  her  coffin,  he  felt  great  grief  and  remorse." 

"You  don't  know  any  thing  about  the  matter,"  said  Gifford. 
"  He  grieved  for  his  mother,  not  only  as  for  a  parent,  but  for 
higher  and  holier  reasons.  She  was  a  good  and  a  pious 
woman." 

"I  know  that,"  said  Fisher;  "as  good  a  woman  as  ever 
lived  in  this  town;  and  so  much  the  greater  shame  that  her 
son  should  let  her  go  to  the  poorhouse." 

"I  don't  defend  that,"  said  Gifford;  "I  think  he  was 
wrong :  but  yet  his  grief  was  sincere  and  to  his  credit,  and 
will  do  much  to  atone  for  his  unkindness  in  the  great  day. 
I  have  been  at  the  communion-table  with  them  both  a  hun- 
dred times ;  and  it  was  but  natural  that  when  the  minister 
told  of  the  great  loss  the  neighborhood  had  sustained  by  the 
death  of  such  a  woman,  —  such  a  sincere,  praying  Christian, — 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  89 

and  petitioned  Heaven  that  this  great  loss  to  him  who  was 
bone  of  her  bone,  and  flesh  of  her  flesh,  might  be  sanctified 
to  his  welfare, — I  say  the  grief  he  then  showed  was  much 
to  his  credit;  and  I  think  he  made  a  great  many  friends  by 
it,  and  that  every  person  at  the  funeral  thought  better  of 
him  for  it." 

"I  wasn't  at  the  funeral,"  said  Fisher;  "and  I  would  like 
to  ask  you  if  the  minister  quoted  the  last  words  of  the  old 
woman." 

"  No :  what  were  they  ?  " 

"  Why,  when  Homer  was  sent  for,  and  told  that  his  mother 
could  not  hold  out  till  morning,  he  went  over  to  see  her; 
and  when  he  first  went  in  she  did  not  know  him,  —  she  was 
wandering  in  her  mind.  By  and  by  she  came  to  her  senses, 
and  they  told  her  Thomas  was  there.  'Thomas,'  said  the 
old  woman,  starting  up  and  looking  at  him, — 'Thomas,  why 
did  you  send  me  here  ? '  and  the  old  woman  fell  back,  and  died 
in  a  minute.  Now,  after  that,  I  can  understand  why  he 
should  take  on  so  at  the  funeral.  I  have  seen  such  things 
before,  but  none  quite  so  bad  as  that.  When  people  do 
their  duty  to  the  living,  they  may  mourn  their  loss;  but  they 
don't  bewail  and  lament  and  reproach  themselves  as  those 
do  who  neglect  and  abuse  their  fathers,  mothers,  and  other 
kindred,  till  they  have  left  the  world  and  are  beyond  the 
reach  of  their  cruelty.  People  like  Gomery  and  his  wife 
have  no  self-reproaches;  and,  when  death  came  and  took  away 
the  old  lady  whom  they  loved  so  tenderly  that  they  did  all 
in  their  power  for  her  comfort  and  happiness,  they  had  no 
stings  of  conscience  to  prick  them  into  loud  cries  of  grief 
and  sorrow.  They  know  that  death  must  come  sooner  or 
later  to  all;  and  they  do  not  fret  against  the  Lord,  however 
much  they  mourn.  They  are  rather  thankful  for  mercies 
received  than  complaining  of  those  withheld." 

"You  had  better  turn  infidel  preacher,  and  done  with  it," 
said  Giflford,  leaving  abruptly,  and  putting  an  end  to  the  dis- 
cussion. 

However  correct  Fisher  may  have  been  in  his  estimate  of 
the  character  of  the  grief  manifested  by  Freeborn  Gomery, 
it  gave  no  clew  to  the  frequently  expressed  sorrow  of  his 
children.  They  only  knew  their  grandmother  as  the  imper- 
sonation of  kindness,  and  her  death  came  upon  them  as  an 
irreparable  loss.     They  knew  that  they  had  been  often  wil- 

8* 


90  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY! 

ful,  troublesome,  disobedient,  and  unkind  to  her,  and  that 
she  ever  repaid  them  with  gentleness  and  love;  and  now  all 
their  acts  of  unkindness  came  up  to  their  memories  in  re- 
proachful contrast  to  her  unvarying  gentleness  and  affection. 
And  yet  they  had  been  always  sincerely  attached  to  her, 
and,  while  she  lived,  thought  they  were  dutiful  and  respectful. 
It  had  ever  been  their  custom  to  spend  much  of  their  time 
with  her  at  the  Perch,  and  they  all  felt  as  much  at  home 
there  as  at  their  own  home  at  the  Pivot.  The  good  old  lady 
had  always  entered  into  all  their  youthful  games,  and  had 
taught  them  those  she  had  played  at  as  a  girl ;  and  was  never 
tired  of  hearing  them  repeat  the  lessons  in  spelling,  arith- 
metic, and  geography,  which  had  been  given  them  by  the 
school-teacher.  The  old  lady  had  also  beguiled  many  hours 
with  them  in  recounting  the  story  of  the  Revolution ;  and,  as 
her  youthful  and  more  impressible  days  had  been  passed  at 
the  time  of  that  struggle,  it  was  not  strange  that  her  opinion 
of  the  English  was  scarcely  more  favorable  than  it  was  of  the 
Indians.  Of  them  both  she  had  many  stories  to  tell;  and 
especially  did  she  recount  to  them  that  dreadful  affair  on 
that  very  hill  where  they  lived,  when  the  British  and  Indians 
came  along  and  murdered  poor  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gault,  and. car- 
ried their  little  girl  into  captivity :  and  then  she  would  tell 
how  that,  for  many  years  after,  strange  noises  had  been  heard 
in  the  old  log-house  where  the  murder  had  been  committed; 
and  even  to  that  day  the  servants  said  the  old  log-house  was 
haunted.  But,  of  course,  she  always  added,  it  was  only  bad 
people  that  ghosts  disturbed  ;  and  if  they  were  always  good 
and  honest,  and  did  as  they  would  be  done  by,  they  would 
never  see  any  ghosts.  But  the  story,  nevertheless,  gave  the 
children  a  great  horror  of  the  old  log-house,  that  had  been 
allowed  to  stand  by  reason  of  its  historic  interest,  notwith- 
standing it  was  an  offence  to  the  eye,  and  cumbered  up 
the  ground.  If  compelled  to  pass  by  it  at  night,  they  always 
kept  as  far  from  it  as  possible,  and  always,  when  fairly  past, 
cast  a  look  back,  dreading  to  see  the  apparition  of  the  lovely 
woman  with  her  throat  cut.  It  was  never  visited  by  them, 
even  in  the  daytime,  unless  some  older  person  was  with 
them.  Being  used  only  as  a  depository  for  farming  tools  and 
rubbish,  it  was  a  great  place  for  the  hens  to  go  into  to  hide 
their  nests.  The  feathered  bipeds  had  somehow  learned  that 
the  place  was  avoided  by  the  children,  —  those  great  destroy- 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  91 

ers   of  embryo   chickens,  —  and  hence   they   selected   that 
place  for  their  incubating  habitation. 

It  was  less  than  a  year  after  the  good  old  lady  had  been 
carried  amid  sorrow  and  tears  to  the  tomb  that  another 
event  happened  in  the  family,  of  an  opposite  character. 
Another  angel  passed  over,  and  this  was  an  angel  of  life. 


92  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"  Make  thick  my  blood ; 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse; 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose."  —  Macbbth. 

When  Maxwell  Cumberland  returned  to  England,  after 
an  absence  of  two  years  and  a  half,  he  looked  more  than  ten 
years  older  than  when  he  left.  Though  still  less  than  thirty 
years  of  age,  he  might  have  been  taken  for  forty.  Then  he 
was  the  picture  of  health  ;  active,  erect,  and  handsome,  with 
a  clear  and  steady  eye,  and  a  bold  and  arrogant  air.  Now 
he  was  haggard  and  emaciated,  his  eye  unsteady,  his  look 
downcast  and  evasive.  But,  in  spite  of  all  his  experience  in 
America,  he  cherished  all  his  former  ambitious  plans ;  and, 
with  unrelaxed  tenacity  of  purpose,  he  made  straight  for  the 
accomplishment  of  his  designs.  And  the  prospect  of  suc- 
cess on  his  return  was  even  better  than  he  expected.  The 
only  son  of  his  brother,  Lord  Maccleton,  was  dead ;  and,  if  his 
brother  would  only  be  so  obliging  as  to  die  too,  his  way 
would  be  clear  before  him.  And  it  seemed  as  if  the  elder 
was  willing  to  oblige  the  younger ;  for  he  was  leading  a  life 
of  dissipation  and  extravagance,  that  was  fast  undermining 
his  health  and  ruining  his  constitution.  He  was,  in  all  re- 
spects, different  from  his  brother.  The  elder  was  weak  and 
purposeless  ;  the  younger,  resolute  and  ambitious.  The  fam- 
ily estate  was  encumbered  and  neglected,  and  each  year  the 
affairs  of  its  noble  possessor  were  becoming  more  complicated 
and  embarrassed.  The  younger  brother,  presuming  that  the 
estate  would  probably  fall  to  him,  regarded  it  as  a  sort  of 
special  providence  that  had  blessed  his  thrifty  management ; 
so  that,  if  he  should  ever  become  Lord  Maccleton,  he  would 
have  abundant  means  to  clear  off  all  encumbrances,  re- 
store and  renovate  the  old  hall,  and  make  all  other  needed 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  93 

improvements.  In  overlooking  the  estate  which  had  for 
centuries  been  the  property  of  his  ancestors,  he  was  morti- 
fied at  the  contrast  it  presented  to  some  of  the  thrifty  coun- 
try seats  of  men  whose  ancestry,  compared  with  his  own, 
was  but  as  yesterday.  His  father  had  been  a  bluff  fox-hunter, 
who  sacrificed  every  thing  to  his  horses  and  dogs ;  and  his 
brother  had  added  to  these  accomplishments  those  other, 
not  so  exclusive,  but  equally  unprofitable  practices,  —  gam- 
bling and  drunkenness.  But,  by  retaining  his  fraudulent  hold 
on  the  estate  of  his  deceased  wife  by  means  of  the  suppositi- 
tious child,  it  would  be  easy  for  him,  should  his  beloved 
brother  be  so  obliging  as  to  break  his  neck,  to  pay  off  all  en- 
cumbrances, and  make  improvements  that  would  render  the 
place  one  of  the  finest  in  the  United  Kingdom.  It  was  now 
a  shabby  affair,  and  was  no  fit  place  to  which  to  invite  any 
of  the  high  officers  of  the  government ;  much  less  the 
young  snobs,  whose  pretensions  give  the  tone  of  fashion  in 
society,  and  among  whom  Cumberland  was  especially  anxious 
to  make  an  impression. 

His  ambition  was  of  a  higher  order  than  that  of  most 
of  those  whose  friendship  and  support  he  courted.  It  would 
not  suffice  to  be  a  mere  lay-figure,  even  in  the  most  exclusive 
circles  of  society  ;  but  he  longed  for  power  and  fame,  and  he 
meant  to  have  them :  and  he  had  the  discernment  to  see,  that, 
if  he  cultivated  and  flattered  the  young  scions  of  the  aris- 
tocracy, it  was  possible  that  they  might  remember  his  atten- 
tions when  they  became  lords  of  the  realm,  and  wielded  an 
influence  in  shaping  the  national  policy  and  the  formation  of 
his  majesty's  ministries.  His  schemes  were  well  laid  and 
well  digested ;  and  all  that  was  lacking  was,  that  a  good 
Providence  should  reward  his  virtuous  acts  by  taking  his 
elder  brother  to  a  brighter  and  a  better  world.  His  own 
brother  was  the  Mordecai  at  the  gate.  As  long  as  he  lived, 
he  could  not  come  into  the  Maccleton  property;  and  the 
elder  might  be  so  unfraternal  as  to  outlive  the  younger. 
Life,  at  best,  is  uncertain ;  and,  for  aught  he  knew  to  the  con- 
trary, his  weak  and  dissipated  brother  might  live  forty  years, 
and  perhaps  leave  a  lineal  heir  to  the  coveted  estate  and 
honors.  The  revival  of  an  extinct  title  would  be  attended 
with  too  much  delay  for  his  active,  eager  mind ;  and  then  it 
would  not,  after  all,  give  him  what  he  wanted.  He  wanted 
to  be  the  Lord  Maccleton,  and  restore  the  honor,  influence, 


94  GOMERT    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

and  glory  of  the  name  ;  and,  not  seeing  his  way  clear  to  his 
object,  he  was  in  a  most  unsatisfactory  frame  of  mind.  To 
add  to  his  perplexities,  he  had  made  overtures  for  the  daugh- 
ter of  Lord  Crosstree;  and,  though  not  directly  refused,  the 
noble  lord  indicated  to  him,  that,  while  his  daughter  could 
love  a  Lord  Maccleton,  she  never  could  be  made  to  regard 
with  favor  a  mere  colonel  in  the  army,  who,  perhaps,  would 
never  be  a  lord  at  all.  It  might  be  inferred  from  this,  that, 
in  the  circles  of  the  nobility,  love  was  a  thing  not  recognized ; 
and  it  must  be  admitted,  that,  in  drawing  up  marriage-settle- 
ments, it  is  usually  left  out  of  sight  by  the  high  contracting 
parties.  But  that  love  will  sometimes  intrude  into  most 
exclusive  and  best-regulated  families  is  proved  by  the  fact, 
that  the  only  sister  of  Col.  Cumberland  had  so  far  disgraced 
the  family  as  to  marry  a  man  without  a  name,  and  who  had 
nothing  to  recommend  him  but  his  fine  person,  and  an  im- 
mense fortune  which  he  had  acquired  in  the  undignified 
business  of  banking.  His  father  had  been  a  manufacturer, 
and  had  left  him  the  nucleus  of  a  fortune,  which  the  young 
man  had  so  well  managed,  that,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  he  was 
known  in  Downing  Street  as  one  of  the  heavy  capitalists  of 
the  city.  For  this  upstart  she  had  refused  the  hand  of  Lord 
Landisgone,  a  nobleman  of  blood  so  pure  that  it  was  ever  break- 
ing out  in  scrofulous  sores,  the  scars  of  which  were  con- 
sidered as  so  many  badges  of  honor,  since  they  proved  his 
race  had  never  mixed  and  crossed  with  plebeian  stock.  By  a 
judicious  system  of  intermarriage  among  their  kin,  his  fam- 
ily had  kept  itself  elevated,  and  pure  from  taint  of  the  com- 
mon herd ;  and  as  their  connections  were  all  of  the  noblest 
families  in  the  kingdom,  and  his  title  was  as  old  as  the  Nor- 
man invasion,  it  was  considered  a  great  shame  that  the  Lady 
Henrietta  had  rejected  so  noble  and  honorable  an  alliance; 
and  when  it  was  considered  that  to  such  a  man  she  had  pre- 
ferred a  mere  banker,  a  man  who  had  made  his  own  money,  it 
was  thought  positively  disgraceful. 

Success,  however,  is  a  great  mollifier  of  offences;  and 
though  it  was  long  before  the  family  would  forgive  the  erring 
one  for  thus  bringing  disgrace  on  the  noble  house,  and  con- 
taminating the  stock  of  the  Cumberlands  with  plebeian  blood, 
yet  her  husband,  Sir  Henderson  Strongham,  was  not  a  man 
to  be  despised  even  by  such  old  aristocracy.  His  success  in 
business  had  been  astonishing;  and,  within  ten  years  of  his 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  95 

marriage,  his  advice  on  affairs  of  finance  had  been  sought  in 
government  circles;  and  so  useful  had  he  made  himself  in 
effecting  certain  important  loans,  that  his  majesty  graciously- 
conferred  upon  him  the  honor  of  knighthood.  After  this 
success,  not  only  without  the  influence  of  his  wife's  family, 
but  in  spite  of  it,  it  was  finally  concluded,  after  mature  de- 
liberation, that  a  reconciliation  should  take  place,  and  the 
erring  sister  be  forgiven. 

The  overtures  for  a  reconciliation  now  came,  for  the  first 
time,  from  the  country.  On  sundry  previous  occasions,  the 
man  of  debits  and  credits  had  approached  through  third  par- 
ties the  proud  relatives  of  his  wife,  but  had  always  been  un- 
ceremoniously snubbed.  The  rebuffs  he  took  with  only  the 
resentment  of  resolving  that  he  would  one  day  overcome 
their  opposition,  which  he  regarded  as  but  just  and  proper, 
and  that,  when  he  was  entitled  to  a  recognition,  he  did  not 
doubt  but  he  should  get  it.  He  therefore  applied  himself 
more  assiduously  than  ever  to  the  accumulation  of  money; 
for  he  had  great  faith  in  that,  and  believed  that  with  money 
and  tact  he  could  get  among  the  landed  aristocracy,  and  that 
he  could  reward  his  wife's  sacrifices  for  him  and  his  sake  by 
one  day  restoring  her  to  the  society  she  had  left,  recognized 
as  the  equal  of  the  best  of  them. 

Following  the  preliminaries  of  the  reconciliation,  Col.  Cum- 
berland came  down  to  London,  and  was  cordially  received 
at  the  magnificent  town  residence  of  his  brother-in-law,  Sir 
Henderson  Strongham.  His  sister,  whom  he  had  not  seen 
for  a  dozen  years  before,  had  been  dealt  with  more  kindly 
by  time  than  himself.  To  her  eyes,  there  had  been  no  aven- 
ging power  ever  present,  showing  forth  a  ghastly  spectacle 
that  would  never  depart.  Yet  to  him,  notwithstanding  his 
mind  was  ever  active  in  the  execution  of  his  ambitious 
schemes,  the  dreadful  apparition  of  the  scene  at  Gault's 
Hill  was  constantly  present;  and  he  could  never  keep  his 
eyes  in  any  direction  for  more  than  two  minutes,  but  that 
it  would  show  itself  so  distinctly,  that  he  would  be  compelled 
to  turn  his  head,  and  look  another  way.  This  restlessness 
of  the  eyes,  and  habit  of  averting  their  gaze  as  from  some 
disagreeable  object,  soon  attracted  the  notice  of  his  sister; 
but  he  explained  it  by  saying  that  his  sight  had  been  in- 
jured by  the  snows  of  Canada.  She  overheard  some  of 
the  servants,  however,  say,  that,  during  the  whole  time  her 


96 


GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY 


brother  was  there,  he  walked  the  room  every  night  from 
twelve  or  one  o'clock  till  four  or  five  in  the  morning.  Was 
the  tragedy  of  Gault's  Hill  enacted  every  night  before  his 
eyes?     He  never  said  it. 

Lady  Strongham  had  three  children  of  her  own,  the  young- 
est of  which  was  about  the  same  age  as  Cumberland's  pro- 
tegee, and,  like  her,  a  girl.  She  was  vastly  pleased  at  the 
family  reconciliation  that  had  just  been  effected,  and  at  the 
prospect  of  seeing  her  children  not  only  relations  but  ac- 
quaintances of  the  old  nobility,  among  whom  she  had  her- 
self been  born  and  reared.  She  even  indulged  the  hope 
of  one  day  seeing  her  eldest  boy  the  husband  of  her  broth- 
er's child,  who,  besides  her  high  birth,  would  inevitably  be 
heiress  to  an  immense  estate.  But,  let  the  future  have  in 
store  what  it  might,  she  was  so  pleased  at  the  changed  as- 
pect of  family  affairs,  that  she  thought  she  could  not  do 
enough  to  gratify  her  brother,  the  colonel.  She  insisted 
that  his.  child  should  come  to  London,  and  live  with  her 
children,  and  have  a  home  among  friends.  This  proposition 
was  pleasing  to  Cumberland  ;  and  a  messenger  was  sent 
into  the  country  with  authority  to  bring  the  precious  dar- 
ling with  her  governess  and  nurse  to  the  metropolis.  Cum- 
berland spared  no  pains  nor  expense  to  obtain  every  comfort 
and  advantage  for  the  child;  but  he  never  saw  it  himself. 
From  the  first,  it  had  ever  showed  an  aversion  to  him,  and, 
to  avoid  him,  had  sought  the  protection  of  Sleeping  Ven- 
geance, whenever,  in  the  journey  through  the  forest,  he  had 
sought  to  ingratiate  himself  into  its  favor.  On  board  the 
ship,  too,  it  never  saw  him  but  it  turned  away  affrighted  to 
its  nurse;  and  he  was  convinced  that  the  only  way  to  over- 
come its  antipathy  was  to  keep  out  of  its  sight  till  the  mem- 
ory of  those  scenes  in  the  forest  should  be  effaced.  The 
child,  at  the  time  of  that  fearful  crime,  was  less  than  a  year 
and  a  half  old ;  and,  though  it  might  always  have  a  vague 
recollection  of  it,  he  hoped  it  would  retain  no  impression  of 
himself  as  connected  with  it. 

In  the  mean  while,  the  report  of  the  surprise  and  defeat  of 
Cumberland's  veterans  by  a  handful  of  raw  militia  had 
reached  England,  and  was  discussed  in  high  quarters,  little 
to  the  credit  or  advantage  of  the  officer  in  command.  The 
Gault's-Hill  affair  was  one  of  those  common  and  insignifi- 
cant episodes  in  this  war  so  unnatural  and  ungrateful  on  the 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  97 

part  of  the  colonists  as  to  deprive  them  of  the  rights  of 
civilized  warfare,  and  therefore  not  likely  to  be  remembered 
or  reported  in  England.  Cumberland,  nevertheless,  was  ex- 
ceedingly anxious  for  a  long  time  lest  the  facts  should  be- 
come public  through  the  babbling  of  some  disabled  soldier, 
who,  being  sent  home,  might  narrate  his  experiences  in  Amer- 
ica to  some  one  who  would  publish  the  whole  affair;  but, 
as  no  mention  was  made  of  it  in  any  quarter,  he  at  length 
breathed  more  freely  in  the  belief  that  his  secret  was  safe. 

But  he  could  not  remain  in  England.  After  so  inglorious 
a  defeat,  it  was  no  time  for  him  to  retire.  The  stigma  of  sur- 
prise must  be  wiped  out,  and  his  character  as  a  soldier  re- 
deemed, and  that,  too,  on  the  same  theatre  of  action  where  he 
had  incurred  his  disgrace.  A  few  years  more  of  absence  might 
largely  augment  his  importance  at  home ;  and  on  his  return, 
covered  with  laurels  and  glory  plucked  from  the  field  of  bat- 
tle, he  might  find  himself  not  only  a  popular  favorite,  but  a 
lord  of  the  realm.  Besides,  he  was  a  man  of  action,  -and  not 
a  mere  idle  dreamer ;  and,  as  soon  as  his  affairs  at  home  were 
properly  disposed,  he  embarked  again  for  America;  and  in 
his  subsequent  career,  by  his  reckless  bravery,  his  ferocity 
of  deportment  against  the  rebels,  his  wanton  destruction  of 
property,  his  cruelty  to  prisoners,  and  his  encouragement  of 
rapine,  he  fully  atoned  for  the  disasters  of  his  earlier  cam- 
paign. A  manuscript  letter  of  thanks  drawn  up  by  the 
board  of  war,  signed  by  the  king,  and  countersigned  by 
Lord  North,  is  still  preserved  at  Maccleton  Hall,  suspended 
in  a  rich  frame  against  the  wall  among  the  family  pictures. 
It  was  slightly  injured  a  few  years  after,  when  all  the  pic- 
tures were  hastily  taken  down  and  hid  away  in  anticipation 
of  the  invasion  of  the  ruthless  "  Corsican  upstart." 

In  this  family  history,  which  may  be  true  in  every  word, 
it  is  not  for  me  to  give  any  more  of  the  events  that  trans- 
pired across  the  water  than  is  essential  to  the  full  under- 
standing and  development  of  the  story  at  home.  If  I  at- 
tempt to  give  any  thing  more  than  the  necessary  incidents 
in  their  chronological  order,  and  seek  to  represent  the  man- 
ners, the  habits,  or  the  customs  of  a  country  of  which  I  have 
seen  but  little,  I  shall  probably  make  a  ridiculous  figure;  and 
if  I  could  succeed  in  the  effort,  even  then  the  labor  would  be 
quite  unnecessary.  Everybody,  that  reads  novels  in  Eng- 
lish, of  course  reads  every  thing  written  by  those  two  mas- 

9 


yo  GOMEEY   OP   MONTGOMERY  : 

ters  of  fiction,  more  competent  than  all  others  to  paint  the 
characteristics  of  their  own  nation.  The  great  genius  of 
humanity,  who  evolves  so  much  of  the  good  that  exists  in 
human  nature  as  almost  to  make  the  cynic  amiable,  has  de- 
picted the  inner  man  of  the  English.  The  kind  impulses, 
the  generous  self-sacrifice,  the  pure  love,  of  which  the  hu- 
man heart  is  capable,  seem  to  be  incarnated  in  his  enduring 
characters  ;  and  whether  we  are  following  the  fortunes  of  a 
precocious  Nell,  or  smiling  at  the  sanguine  expectations  of 
Wilkins  Micawber,  we  can  hardly  realize  that  we  are  not 
reading  of  living  persons.  The  outer  man  of  the  English 
has  been  drawn  by  as  great  an  artist,  but  one  whose  genius 
is  of  the  earth  earthy,  and  who  does  not  believe  in  the  ex- 
istence of  those  qualities  that  the  other  conceives  and  de- 
picts. The  one  discovers  and  portrays  the  good  in  nature ; 
the  other,  the  evil.  The  one  sees  love,  affection,  and  kindness 
moving  to  acts  of  mercy  and  benevolence  :  the  other  sees 
selfishness  supreme  behind  and  governing  all.  The  latter 
unmasks  and  remorselessly  exposes  the  shams  and  preten- 
sions of  society,  and  is  accordingly  courted  and  feted,  feared, 
feasted,  and  shunned,  that  his  trenchant  pen  may  not  em- 
balm in  the  amber  of  his  genius  the  stupid  pretentious  non- 
entities that  float  on  the  surface  of  high  society.  With  a 
keen  and  trenchant  blade,  the  author  of  "Vanity  Fair"  has 
divided  the  people  of  England  into  two  classes,  which  are 
always  with  infinite  variety  of  shading  presented  to  his  cos- 
mopolitan reader,  —  the  snobs  and  flunkies.  His  aristocrats 
are  snobs,  whose  pretensions  make  up  for  lack  of  talent  and 
virtue  among  the  staring  crowd  of  flunkies  that  compose 
the  body  of  the  people,  and  who  take  it  as  their  lot  and 
their  duty  to  uphold  the  divine  rights  of  a  class  whose  in- 
tellect they  cannot  respect,  and  whose  morals  they  detest. 
The  gloze  of  English  society  does  not  enable  it  to  escape 
his  eagle  glance ;  and  it  is  fair  to  presume,  that  if,  after  his 
sojourn  in  this  country,  he  has  not  made  us  the  subjects  of 
his  satire  and  ridicule,  it  is  not  because  he  has  not  observed 
our  national  faults  and  follies,  but  that,  in  spite  of  them,  he 
has  seen  that  our  people  are  free  from  that  disgusting  sub- 
serviency to  sounding  titles  that  has  debased  the  middle  and 
lower  ranks  of  England,  as  well  as  that  supercilious  arro- 
gance of  rank,  that,  in  the  upper  class,  serves  as  a  cloak  for 
ignorance   and  imbecility.     He   has  seen  here  that  it  is 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  99 

"  worth  that  makes  the  man,"  and  not  ancestral  fame,  good 
or  bad,  of  honored  men  or  dishonored  women ;  and  that  the 
peculiarities  of  our  people  do  not  interfere  with  the  general 
happiness  and  development;  that,  in  a  land  of  great  prosper- 
ity, exotics  and  demagogues  flourish  for  a  time,  but  only  to 
wither  after  a  brief  day  under  the  light  of  general  intelli- 
gence and  universal  suffrage ;  that,  truth  being  free,  error 
must  be  short-lived ;  and  that  where  education  is  general,  and 
every  mind  active,  or  encouraged  to  activity,  there  will  be 
the  greatest  advancement  in  practical  inventions,  as  well  as 
an  uneasy  restiveness  under  any  system  or  policy  which  is 
not  for  the  general  good.     Selah. 


100  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Thus,  while  around  the  wave-subjected  soil 
Impels  the  native  to  repeated  toil, 
Industrious  habits  in  each  bosom  reign, 
And  industry  begets  a  love  of  gain. 
Hence  all  the  good  from  opulence  that  springs, 
With  all  those  ills  superfluous  pleasure  brings, 
Are  here  displayed.    Their  much-loved  wealth  imparts 
Convenience,  plenty,  elegance,  and  arts. 
But  view  them  closer,  craft  and  fraud  appear : 
Even  liberty  itself  1s  bartered  here."  —  Goldsmith's  Traveller. 

The  village  of  Montgomery,  we  have  already  said,  was  as 
thriving  and  bustling  a  little  place  as  any  within  many  miles 
of  it.  Owing  to  the  wise  forecast  of  the  elder  Gomery,  the  first 
settlers  had  been  of  a  class  superior  to  the  average  of  those  in 
the  neighboring  towns.  If  a  man  of  good  character  and  habits 
came  into  the  village  with  a  view  of  settling  there,  he  would 
give  him  strong  inducements  to  do  so ;  but  a  seedy  fellow, 
out  at  elbows,  who  wanted  credit  for  his  grog-bills,  was  al- 
ways told  that  there  was  no  land  for  sale  there,  but  it  was 
plenty  and  cheap  a  few  miles  farther  on. 

It  seems  inevitable,  however,  that,  in  every  new  country, 
there  should  be  a  great  deal  of  litigation.  One  great  cause 
is  the  uncertainty  of  boundaries  between  neighbors.  Anoth- 
er is,  that  the  people  are  exposed  to  a  rough  and  hard 
life,  that  renders  them  less  reluctant  to  engage  in  personal 
frays  and  grog-shop  broils  than  in  parts  that  have  been  longer 
settled,  and  where  the  supremacy  of  law  is  better  established. 
The  pioneers  of  a  new  country  are  also  so  far  removed  from 
the  restraints  of  the  society  in  which  they  were  brought  up, 
that  they  are  not  withheld  by  it  from  asserting  their  rights 
according  to  those  primitive  expounders  of  jurisprudence, 
the  strong  arm  and  bony  knuckles. 

But  with  civilization  came  evils  not  known  among  barba- 
rians. In  organized  society,  it  is  found  that  the  men  who 
nourish  on  the  vices,  follies,  and  misfortunes  of  their  neigh- 


A   FAMILY    HISTCJJY. 


M 


bors,  are  the  most  influential,  and  frequently  the  most  re- 
spected, of  any  in  the  community.  These  are  the  lawyers 
and  doctors.  They  both  flourish  on  moral  or  physical  ail- 
ments. The  latter  profit  by  the  violation  of  Nature's  laws  in 
over-indulgence  of  the  appetites ;  and  the  former  profit  by  the 
pig-headed  obstinacy  and  selfishness  of  those  who  violate 
that  higher  law  which  says,  "  Do  unto  others  as  ye  would 
that  they  should  do  unto  you."  Yet,  as  long  as  human  na- 
ture is  as  it  is,  it  must  needs  be  that  offences  must  come ; 
and  as  we  are  to  deal  with  the  world  as  it  is,  and  not  as  it 
ought  to  be,  and  as  complaining  will  not  improve  or  change 
it,  we  will  accept  it  as  we  find  it,  well  pleased  to  know,  that, 
though  lawyers  live  and  flourish  on  the  vices  and  follies  of 
mankind,  there  are  many  members  of  the  profession  as  free 
from  those  vices  or  follies  as  human  nature  admits,  and  who 
are  more  prompt  to  warn  their  clients  of  the  uncertainties 
and  expenses  of  litigation  than  to  urge  them  to  enter  its 
winding,  uncertain  labyrinths. 

Of  this  class  was  Freeborn  Gomery.  But  in  spite  of  his 
oft-repeated  advice  to  his  clients  to  avoid  the  law,  and  settle 
their  difficulties  by  compromise  or  reference,  he  had,  for  the 
first  few  years  after  he  opened  his  office,  as  much  as  he  could 
do.  It  gradually  fell  off,  however,  as  the  town  improved, 
both  for  the  reason  that  there  was  less  law  business  in  the 
town  to  be  done,  and  that,  in  the  adjoining  towns,  limbs  of  the 
profession  had  been  domiciled,  who  secured  a  large  share  of 
the  practice  that  had  previously  fallen  to  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery. Nor  was  he  unwilling  to  see  it  diminish :  on  the 
contrary,  he  was  rejoiced  at  it,  and  was  frequently  more 
frank  than  mild,  when  people  applied  to  him  to  bring  suit  on 
some  trivial  matter,  in  the  advice  he  gave  them.  He  was 
now  in  easy  circumstances,  and  was  as  rich,  so  he  said,  as  he 
wanted  to  be ;  and  he  told  people  who  sought  his  services 
that  he  would  not  engage  himself  in  the  petty  quarrels  of 
those  who  were  fools  enough  to  resort  to  the  law  for  redress 
in  cases  where  the  expenses  of  the  action  would  very  likely 
exceed  the  amount  in  dispute.  It  was  only  in  important 
suits  that  his  services  could  be  obtained;  and  not  then,  except 
his  client  was  obviously  in  the  right,  and  must  suffer  injustice 
unless  he  took  up  his  case.  He  had  a  farm  of  a  hundred 
acres  of  the  original  Gault  Tract,  and  he  preferred  to  devote 
his  time  to  that  rather  than  fret  himself  over  the  strifes  and 

9* 


19$  GOllERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

perplexities  of  the  law.  His  two  boys  were  now  two  good- 
sized  lads,  that,  according  to  his  old-fashioned  ideas,  could 
be  benefited  by  being  put  to  work  on  the  farm ;  and  while 
they  hardened  their  hands,  and  knit  more  firmly  their  frames, 
they  would  learn  both  how  to  do  and  how  to  endure,  and 
Would  likewise  be  made  to  appreciate  the  cost  and  value  of 
money.  He  had  never  been  exactly  a  popular  man ;  though 
all  stood  in  awe  of  him,  and  courted  his  good  opinion.  But 
he  had  never  sought  the  popular  favor,  and  never  yielded  to 
popular  passions  or  prejudices ;  and  in  these  later  years, 
when  endeavoring  to  get  out  of  practice,  he  was  often  so 
churlish  and  severe  as  to  give  serious  offence. 

His  business,  however,  held  on  against  his  will,  sufficient  to 
require  his  regular  attendance  at  the  district  county  courts; 
though  it  was  not  unfrequently  the  case  that  he  would 
find,  on  his  return  home,  that  his  entire  fees  would  not  suffice 
to  pay  his  tavern-bills  and  river-toll.  Hence  it  is  no  wonder 
he  became  disgusted  with  his  profession.  It  took  him  from 
his  home,  to  which,  when  away,  his  heart  was  ever  turning ; 
and  it  brought  no  corresponding  returns :  and  he  longed  to 
withdraw  from  it  altogether.  His  neighbors  and  former  cli- 
ents knew  of  his  aversion  to  taking  up  any  new  business  ; 
but,  as  a  case  was  considered  more  than  half  won  when  he 
took  hold  of  it,  he  was  still  often  importuned  for  counsel  and 
service. 

An  incident  at  this  time  so  clearly  manifested  his  repug- 
nance to  the  profession,  that  afterwards  it  was  considered  a 
trespass  on  good  nature  to  solicit  his  aid  in  a  lawsuit,  and 
from  thenceforth  no  one  had  the  face  to  ask  it ;  and  it  was 
only  when  he  volunteered  in  some  cases  of  flagrant  wrong 
that  his  voice  was  ever  heard  in  a  court  of  law. 

The  incident  was  this:  Two  of  his  neighbors,  both  honest, 
industrious  men,  and  members  of  the  same  church,  one  a 
farmer  and  the  other  a  blacksmith,  had  a  sharp  pass  at  a  con- 
ference that  at  once  put  an  end  to  a  friendship  of  years,  and 
made  them  implacable  enemies.  They  had  lived  long  within 
a  stone's-throw  of  each  other,  and  had  bought  and  sold,  bor- 
rowed and  lent,  all  the  while  in  great  confidence  and  friend- 
ship, until  now ;  when  Brother  Craig  felt  called  upon  to  ex- 
press a  fear  that  Brother  Cook  was  falling  from  the  sterner 
doctrines  of  Calvin,  and  regarding  with  too  great  favor,  or 
at  least  indulgence,  the  heresy  of  Arminianism.     This  was 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  103 

touching  Cook  on  a  tender  point ;  and  he  replied  with  more 
sharpness  than  he  was  wont,  and  came  back  with  interest  on 
his  accuser,  saying  it  ill  became  him  to  call  into  account  the 
orthodoxy  of  a  brother  in  the  church,  when  it  was  known 
that  his  own  daughter  was  being  courted  at  that  very  time 
by  a  man,  who,  in  spite  of  his  good  clothes  and  fair  words, 
was  a  great  deal  worse  than  an  infidel ;  for,  instead  of  not  be- 
lieving that  the  eternal  misery  of  the  wicked  was  pre-or- 
dained and  predestinated  from  the  foundation  of  the  world, 
he  did  not  believe  in  endless  misery  at  all ;  and  that  was  a 
great  deal  worse  than  believing,  that,  by  faith  and  works, 
people  could  work  out  their  own  salvation. 

"  One  is  just  about  as  bad  as  the  other,"  said  Craig.  "  If 
we  let  go  the  good  old  hope  and  doctrine  of  election,  we 
don't  know  where  we  shall  bring  up ;  and,  if  we  open  the  gates 
to  let  in  one  error,  the  waters  of  heresy  will  rush  in,  and  all 
the  hopes  of  all  evangelical  Christians  will  be  destroyed." 

"  Ah !  it  is  very  well,"  retorted  Cook,  "  for  you  to  be  so 
strict  on  other  people,  when  your  own  daughter  is  goiug  to 
marry  an  unbeliever,  —  a  worse  than  an  infidel ;  a  man  who 
makes  light  of  all  our  glorious  hopes  of  immortality,  when 
we  shall  sit  in  high  places,  and  sing  glory  and  hallelujahs  as 
we  look  upon  the  wicked  in  hell  and  in  torment." 

Deacon  Craig  was  incensed  that  his  family-matters  should 
thus  be  made  a  subject  for  church -discipline.  The  first  allu- 
sion to  them  by  Cook  he  had  not  noticed  ;  but,  when  he  saw 
that  it  was  Cook's  determination  to  force  the  church  to  take 
action  upon  it,  he  waxed  warm,  and  told  him  he  would  never 
brook  such  interference.  He  said  he  would  be  proud  to 
own  Caleb  Thornton  as  a  son-in-law ;  for,  though  he  could 
not  agree  with  him  on  points  of  belief  and  doctrine,  he  did 
not  doubt  that  the  Lord  would  yet  open  his  eyes  to  the  truth. 
And  he  continued :  "  As  for  Brother  Cook,  I  never  heard  of  his 
objecting  to  his  visiting  his  family,  and  waiting  on  his  daughter 
Salome,  and  even  going  to  a  ball  with  her;  yes,  brothers 
and  sisters,  going  to  a  ball  with  her !  —  a  thing  he  never  al- 
lowed any  of  his  children  to  do  before.  As  long  as  he  had 
any  hopes  of  getting  him  for  Salome,  he  had  not  a  word  to 
say  agin  him  or  his  religion ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  found  out 
that  he  was  engaged  to  my  daughter  Lucy,  he  is  so  disap- 
pointed, he  tries  to  set  the  church  by  the  ears,  and  so 
break  off  the  match.     Now,  brothers  and  sisters,  that  is  all 


104  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

there  is  about  it ;  and  I  say  to  you,  if  Caleb  Thornton  wants 
my  Lucy,  and  my  Lucy  wants  Caleb  Thornton,  not  all  the 
Cooks  in  the  devil's  kitchen  can  stop  their  marriage." 

Poor  Lucy  was  present  at  this  scene.  At  the  first  allusion 
to  a  subject  so  unpleasant  to  her,  she  blushed,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  handkerchief;  and  ere  long,  as  the  discussion  pro- 
ceeded, she  sobbed  aloud ;  and,  before  it  was  concluded,  she 
got  up  and  left  the  church.  Salome  Cook,  who  had  not 
spoken  to  her  for  two  months  before,  —  not  since  it  was  known 
to  her  that  Lucy,  and  not  herself,  was  the  one  preferred  by 
Caleb,  —  followed  her  out,  not  less  vexed,  and  endeavored 
to  comfort  her.  It  is  true,  she  had  put  all  these  accusations 
into  the  head  of  her  father ;  but  she  had  not  anticipated  a 
scene  like  this ;  and  when  she  overtook  her  old,  and  once 
most  intimate,  friend,  sobbing  in  the  entry  of  the  church,  she 
threw  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and  kissed  her ;  and  bare- 
ly saying,  "  Do  forgive  me,  Lucy ! "  she,  too,  burst  into  tears. 

Of  course  the  young  folks  were  good  friends  after  that ; 
but  not  so  with  the  parents.  The  scene  at  the  church  was 
stopped  by  the  other  members,  while  each  of  the  belliger- 
ents went  home  to  furbish  his  arms  for  war.  Each 
began  to  count  up  the  favors  he  had  done,  and  the  credits 
he  had  given  to  his  neighbor  since  the  last  settlement,  five 
years  before ;  to  recall  the  implements  lent,  the  labor  given,  the 
payments  made,  and  to  array  all  his  charges  into  an  account. 
They  both  were  oblivious  of  any  thing  and  every  thing  re- 
ceived in  return.  Cook  could  remember  how  he  had  shod 
Craig's  oxen  the  winter  before ;  but  he  had  entirely  forgotten 
that  he  had  had  the  use  of  the  cattle  for  a  couple  of  days, 
in  hauling  up  his  winter  wood,  in  payment  therefor.  Craig 
remembered  how  his  oxen  were  employed ;  but  the  shoeing 
had  escaped  his  memory.  So,  much  to  their  surprise  and 
satisfaction,  both  found  they  had  large  accounts  one  against 
the  other;  and  Brother  Craig,  whose  charges  summed  up 
nearly  a  hundred  dollars,  sent  word  to  Cook  that  he  must 
settle  up,  and  pay  what  he  owed,  or  he  would  sue  him. 

Cook  answered  very  testily,  that  he  might  sue  as  soon  as 
he  pleased,  and  the  sooner  the  better,  for  it  would  save  time 
and  trouble ;  that  Craig  was  owing  him  over  seventy  dollars, 
and  he  wanted  the  money,  and,  what  was  more,  he  meant 
to  have  it. 

The  village  of  Montgomery  was  in  an  uproar.     The  scan- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  105 

dal  at  the  conference-meeting  was  common  talk ;  and  people 
took  sides  as  friends  and  foes  of  the  different  parties.  The 
principals  in  the  quarrel  went  at  once  to  consult  Lawyer 
Gomery  ;  for  public  opinion  would,  in  such  a  case,  inevitably 
follow  where  he  led;  and,  though  he  did  not  belong  to  the 
same  church  with  them,  each  belligerent  felt,  that,  if  it  were 
known  that  Gomery  of  Montgomery  had  agreed  to  take  up 
his  cause,  it  would  avail  more  in  the  general  community 
than  the  unanimous  approval  of  every  church  communi- 
cant. 

Cook  was  the  first  to  get  his  ear,  and  pour  forth  his  griev- 
ances. But  the  lawyer  told  him,  as  he  afterward  did  Craig, 
that  they  were  both  very  foolish ;  and  advised  that  they 
should  meet  together,  and  talk  over  affairs,  and  come  to  an 
amicable  arrangement,  and,  by  all  means,  to  avoid  the  law; 
that  it  would  be  much  cheaper  for  each  one  to  pay  the  full 
account  of  his  erring  neighbor  than  to  get  involved  in  the 
expense  and  uncertainties  of  a  lawsuit.  In  fact,  he  extorted 
a  promise  from  each  to  have  a  talk  with  his  neighbor,  and 
endeavor  to  come  to  a  settlement.  A  meeting  was  accord- 
ingly held  for  this  purpose  at  Cook's  house ;  and  the  result 
of  it  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact,  that,  after  an  interview 
which  began  with  gentle  breezes  that  increased  into  a  raging 
hurricane,  Craig  told  his  former  friend,  but  present  enemy, 
that  it  was  only  because  he  was  in  his  own  house  that  he  did 
not  give  him  a  black  eye. 

After  this  altercation,  there  was  less  hope  of  an  amicable 
adjustment  of  the  war.  Before  the  first  blow  had  been 
struck,  the  overtures  of  peace  had  been  rejected  on  both 
sides  with  scorn,  and  the  war  must  go  on. 

The  belligerent  parties  talked  with  their  respective 
friends,  and,  of  course,  received  consolation  and  encourage- 
ment from  this  source.  As  the  deep  mutterings  of  the  dis- 
tant thunder  foretell  the  coming  storm,  so  did  the  busy 
whispering  in  every  house  in  the  village  of  Montgomery 
foreshadow  that  a  neighborhood  war  was  about  to  break 
forth.  But  as  a  preliminary  to  a  formal  declaration  of  hos- 
tilities, in  the  form  of  a  suit  for  damages,  each  of  the  parties 
in  interest  rushed  to  the  house  of  Lawyer  Gomery  —  he 
was  now  seldom  at  his  office  in  the  village,  —  to  tell  him  of 
the  dishonesty  and  overbearing  insolence  of  his  neighbor, 
and  to  insist  that  it  was  his  duty  as  a  man  to  use  his  influ- 


106  GOMERY  OF  MONTGOMERY  :  . 

ence  in  checking  the  rapacity  and  arrogance  of  such  notori- 
ous rascals.  It  was  no  longer  Brother  Craig  and  Brother 
Cook,  but  that  knave  Craig  and  that  scoundrel  Cook. 

The  lawyer  heard  their  stories  patiently,  and  saw  from  the 
incongruities  of  their  statements,  though  both  meant  to  tell 
him  the  truth,  that  there  was  no  hope  of  their  coming  to  an 
understanding  between  themselves.  He  therefore  advised 
them  to  refer  the  whole  matter  to  two  disinterested  men, 
who  should  examine  into  the  accounts ;  and,  if  they  could 
not  agree,  then  a  third  should  be  called  in  to  act  as  umpire ; 
and  thus  the  whole  matter  should  be  finally  and  irrevocably 
disposed  of.  To  this  plan  they  both  agreed ;  but  it  failed  to 
work,  for  the  reason  that  each  had  taken  care  to  get  a  pledge 
from  the  person  which  he  selected,  that  he  would  choose  for 
the  third  one,  or  umpire,  a  person  approved  of  his  principal. 
At  one  time,  it  was  suggested  that  Lawyer  Gomery  himself 
should  be  umpire ;  but  Craig  would  not  consent  to  that  un- 
less he  would  promise  to  throw  out  such  of  Cook's  charges 
as  were  not  entered  in  his  own  account  at  the  time  the  ser- 
vice was  rendered.  Cook  would  have  him  to  judge  how 
much  Craig  owed  him ;  and,  if  he  found  it  near  a  reasonable 
amount,  he  would  take  it,  and  they  would  pass  receipts.  As 
they  could  get  no  nearer  than  this,  all  idea  of  an  arbitrament 
was  at  an  end ;  and  both  parties  refused  to  submit  to  any 
thing  less  than  the  stern  verdict  of  the  law. 

The  village  of  Montgomery  was  in  wild  commotion. 
.Nothing  like  it  had  ever  been  known  before  in  that  gener- 
ally peaceful,  quiet,  and  sober  community.  Neighbor  was 
arrayed  against  neighbor.  People  talked  of  it  going  to 
church,  before  the  church-door,  and  on  their  way  home  from 
church.  Some  took  sides  with  Craig,  some  with  Cook. 
They  even  began  to  talk  about  it  in  Thornton's  store ;  but  he 
had  the  good  sense  to  prohibit  their  discussions :  and  then 
the  bar-room  of  the  tavern  was  the  scene  of  the  excited  and 
sometimes  angry  discussions.  Everybody  ran  to  Lawyer 
Gomery  to  ask  his  opinion  on  the  different  points  in  the 
case,  which  was,  of  course,  to  be  given  gratuitously,  and  then 
transferred  to  the  friend  of  the  person  who  obtained  it.  But 
the  lawyer  had  no  advice  to  give,  except  that  recourse  to  the 
courts  of  law  was,  of  all  things,  to  be  avoided. 

A  young  lawyer  named  Clofton  had  moved  into  Mont- 
gomery a  few  weeks  before  this,  and  opened  an  office,  and 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  107 

put  out  a  large  sign  in  letters  of  bright  gold-leaf,  that  an- 
nounced his  occupation  to  be  that  of  attorney-at-law. 
As  yet,  he  had  had  no  practice :  not  a  client  had  ever  tapped 
at  his  door.  The  talk  of  everybody  was  of  law,  law,  law ; 
and  yet  he,  the  only  man  that  had  that  commodity  to  sell, 
was  not  consulted  by  either  party.  Nevertheless,  he  was  free 
in  expressing  his  opinion,  and  signified  to  the  friends  of  both 
that  the  case  was  beyond  a  peradventure.  A  friend  of 
Cook's  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  that ;  and  he  said  that  if 
the  blacksmith  knew  his  rights,  and  had  the  spirit  to  resist 
being  trod  upon,  he  would  not  wait  an  hour,  but  bring  an 
action  at  once,  and  he  was  sure  not  only  to  recover  the  full 
amount  claimed,  but  heavy  exemplary  damages. 

This  expression  of  the  young  Coke  came,  as  it  was  intend- 
ed it  should,  direct  to  the  ears  of  Cook.  An  opinion  so  en- 
tirely in  accordance  with  his  own  ideas  at  once  raised  the  new 
lawyer  to  a  position  of  great  respect  in  the  mind  of  the  black- 
smith. He  determined  to  go  and  consult  him  the  next 
morning.  He  still  would  have  preferred  Gomery ;  but  Gom- 
ery  was  obstinate  and  churlish :  and  as  the  expression  of  the 
young  attorney  evinced  so  correct  a  knowledge  of  what  the 
law  ought  to  be,  whether  it  was  or  not,  he  would  give  him  a 
trial. 

The  next  morning,  therefore,  when  he  saw  him  going  over 
from  the  tavern  to  his  office,  he  threw  aside  his  leather 
apron,  and  washing  his  hands  and  face  in  the  trough  in  which 
he  was  used  to  cool  his  irons  and  temper  his  steel,  and  roll- 
ing down  his  shirt-sleeves,  he  put  on  his  coat  and  hat,  and 
started  to  consult  the  young  attorney.  But,  as  is  often  the 
case,  events  of  the  most  trifling  importance,  seemingly, 
change  the  entire  fortune  of  men  and  women,  and,  of  course, 
history.  Had  Cook  gone  directly,  and  without  interruption, 
to  Clofton's  office,  the  suit  would  probably  have  been  com- 
menced that  day.  But  it  was  not  so  to  be;  for,  as  fate 
would  have  it,  he  had  hardly  got  out  of  his  shop  when  he 
chanced  to  meet  Artemus  Diller,  the  tavern-keeper,  a  loqua- 
cious, well-meaning  little  man,  who,  besides  looking  after  the 
wants  of  his  guests,  attended  to  the  business  of  all  his 
neighbors  much  more  faithfully. 

"  Well,  well ! "  says  the  little  Boniface  as  soon  as  he  saw 
the  son  of  Vulcan,  "  this  new  lawyer  says  you  have  no  case 
at  all  j  and,  if  Craig  has  only  spunk  enough  to  go  to  law,  he 


108  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY! 

can  get  such  a  judgment  that  you  will  have  to  mortgage 
your  shop-tools  and  all." 

"  Ah  !  "  says  Cook,  "  he  said  that,  did  he  ?  " 

"  He  told  Joe  Sanderson  so,  Craig's  hired  man ;  and  I 
heard  him  say  it." 

"  But  he  told  my  wife's  brother  that  I  had  a  good  case, 
and  would  be  a  great  gump  not  to  sue ;  that  I  should  recover 
my  full  account,  and  more  too." 

"  Well,  it's  no  affair  of  mine :  you  know  I  never  meddle 
in  the  affairs  of  my  neighbors.  I  only  tell  what  I  heard  last 
night  with  my  own  ears  in  my  bar-room,  sitting  behind 
the  bar,  and  Joe  Sanderson  comin'  in  to  get  a  drink  of  rum 
and  water,  and  sugar  in  it  too ;  and  Clofton  he  sot  there 
readin'  a  paper :  you  know  he  boards  at  my  tavern ;  though 
I've  seen  only  three  dollars  of  his  money  since  he  come 
there,  now  it  is  nigh  on  to  three  months  ago." 

Cook  walked  on,  leaving  the  little  landlord  still  talking,  and 
musing  on  what  he  had  told  him.  Before  he  reached  the 
door  of  Clofton's  office,  he  concluded  he  would  have  one 
more  talk  with  the  old  lawyer  before  taking  extreme  meas- 
ures. So  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  back  to  his 
shop,  and,  resuming  his  leathern  apron,  began  hammering 
away  at  his  anvil. 

Craig,  too,  had  come  to  the  same  conclusion  as  Cook,  hav- 
ing heard  that  Clofton  was  giving  such  contradictory  advice 
to  the  friends  of  the  opposite  parties.  So  it  happened  that 
both  had  determined  to  consult  again  with  Gomery  of 
Montgomery. 

The  first  on  the  ground  at  the  Pivot  was  Cook.  This 
time  he  took  all  his  accounts  and  memoranda,  and,  laying 
them  before  the  lawyer,  again  besought  him  to  take  hold  of 
the  case  in  his  behalf.  The  lawyer  thought  that  he  would  now 
make  a  final  effort  to  bring  him  to  agree  to  some  sort  of  a 
reasonable  settlement.  He  therefore  took  him  into  his  pri- 
vate room,  and  sitting  down  with  him  by  a  table,  with  the 
accounts  before  them,  he  examined,  item  by  item,  all  his 
figures ;  and,  in  a  tone  and  manner  that  Cook  did  not  care  to 
disregard  or  resist,  he  told  him  what  he  had  overcharged, 
what  he  had  charged  that  he  ought  not  to,  and  would  not 
have  put  into  his  account  but  for  the  miserable  quarrel  in 
which  they  had  engaged.  Then  he  reviewed  with  equal 
scrutiny  the  credit  side  of  his  books ;  and,  instead  of  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  109 

credit  given  to  Craig  for  the  items  allowed,  he  told  him  he 
must  alter  them  to  conform  to  what  was  usually  considered 
fair  and  just  in  the  neighborhood.  All  these  changes  in  his 
accounts  Cook  was  compelled  to  make  with  his  own  hand, 
under  the  stern  eye  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery ;  and  then, 
when  the  account  was  cast  up,  he  found  that  Craig  owed 
him  only  fifteen  dollars,  instead  of  seventy-five.  This  sum 
Cook  agreed  to  receive  as  a  final  settlement,  and  balance  ac- 
counts. 

The  next  morning,  Gomery  sent  a  message  to  Craig,  re- 
questing him  to  call  that  evening  at  the  Pivot,  and  bring  all 
his  account-books  with  him.  The  request  was  readily  com- 
plied with,  as  he,  before  that,  had  determined  to  do  the  same 
thing.  His  accounts,  both  debits  and  credits,  were  all  exam- 
ined with  the  same  scrutiny  that  had  so  contracted  Cook's. 
But  he  found  Craig  neither  so  fairly  disposed,  nor  so  reason- 
able in  his  charges,  as  Cook.  He  alleged  that  Cook  owed 
him  little  short  of  a  hundred  dollars ;  but  when  the  lawyer 
instanced  this  or  that  item  that  he  had  seen  on  Cook's 
book's,  but  which  Craig  had  never  given  credit  for,  and  yet 
could  not  deny  or  dispute,  the  larger  figures  melted  away ; 
and,  when  the  whole  had  gone  through  the  contracting  cru- 
cible of  the  lawyer's  mind,  there  was  found  to  be  only  the 
small  sum  of  seventeen  dollars  due  the  farmer  from  the 
blacksmith.  The  amount  astonished .  Craig ;  but,  as  he  had 
assented  to  each  item,  he  could  not  well  refuse  the  total ; 
and  so  he  consented,  that,  if  Cook  would  pay  that  amount 
in  cash,  he  would  square  off  accounts  with  him. 

After  Craig  had  left  him,  the  lawyer  began  to  consider  de- 
liberately the  difficulties  of  the  case.  With  all  he  could  do, 
he  found  it  beyond  his  power  to  make  the  accounts  of  the 
quarrelsome  neighbors  harmonize.  There  was  a  discrepancy 
of  thirty-two  dollars  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts ;  and  as  he  sat 
alone  in  his  room,  reflecting  on  the  folly  and  obstinacy  of 
human  nature,  he  said  thus  to  himself:  — 

"  Here  are  these  two  honest,  hard-working  men,  who  have 
fallen  out;  and  both  seem  bent  on  ruining  themselves  and 
their  families  sooner  than  give  in  a  single  inch.  If  they  once 
get  into  law,  no  one  can  foresee  the  end  of  it.  They  have 
trafficked  a  good  deal  together,  and  neither  thought  of 
taking ^  any  advantage  of  the  other;  and  the  number  of 
items  in  their  accounts  which  have  been  running  on  for 
10 


110  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

years  is  necessarily  large.  But,  as  long  as  they  were 
friends,  they  supposed  their  accounts  were  about  even ;  and, 
had  they  continued  friends,  neither  would  have  cared  for 
a  settlement  for  forty  years  to  come.  To  prove  their  bar- 
gains, sustain  their  charges,  and  justify  their  accounts,  will 
require  a  great  many  witnesses,  some  of  whom  must  be 
brought  at  large  expense  from  a  distance.  Their  quarrel  has 
annoyed  me  already  very  much ;  and,  if  they  once  get  into 
the  hands  of  the  young  sprigs  of  necessity,  I  shall  have  little 
peace  for  a  year.  Therefore  the  cheapest  and  best  way  for 
me  to  do  is  to  pay  this  difference  of  thirty  odd  dollars  out  of 
my  own  pocket,  and  make  money,  or  at  least  quiet,  by  the 
operation.  But  I  must  do  this  very  secretly ;  for  I  will  do 
them  both  the  credit  of  believing  that  they  would  sooner  pay 
the  amount  twice  over  than  have  it  come  out  of  my  pocket : 
knowingly  they  would  never  accept  such  a  settlement,  and 
would  resent  the  offer.  Honest  men  they  are,  though  obsti- 
nate ;  and  each  must  be  made  to  believe  that  the  other  has 
acceded  to  his  terms,  and  then  they  will  be  friends  again,  and 
bother  me  no  more." 

Now,  though,  as  we  have  seen,  Freeborn  Gomery  was  a 
man  of  most  "  incorrigible  and  losing  honesty,"  it  must  be 
confessed  that  the  course  he  had  resolved  upon  was  clearly 
unprofessional.  He  did  not,  even  in  his  own  mind,  assume 
that  he  was  acting  from  any  high  and  magnanimous  motives, 
or  that,  for  the  good  of  others,  he  was  sacrificing  his  own 
interest.  He  never  thought  of  pacifying  or  tickling  his  con- 
science in  any  such  way.  In  fact,  he  was  one  of  those  men 
without  a  conscience.  At  least,  if  he  had  one,  it  never  trou- 
bled him.  As  a  man  in  robust  health  and  perfect  digestion  is 
scarcely  conscious  that  he  has  such  a  thing  as  a  stomach,  so  a 
man  who  only  sees  his  duty,  and  thinks  no  more  of  it,  but  does 
it  as  a  matter  of  course,  never  knows  that  he  has  an  accus- 
ing conscience  within  him.  Lawyer  Gomery  thought  that  he 
could  secure  comfort  and  ease  to  himself  at  a  cheap  rate  by 
the  practice  of  a  little  unprofessional  deception ;  and  as  nobody 
else  would  be  injured  by  it,  but,  on  the  contrary,  two  of  his 
neighbors  would  be  benefited,  he  resolved  to  carry  it  into 
effect.  Other  members  of  the  bar  might  call  it  unprofessional ; 
but  their  opinion  was  of  small  account  to  him,  as  he  desired 
to  be  quit  of  their  company  and  profession.  He  had  incurred 
much  ill-will  from  them  already ;  for  he  had  counselled  con- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  Ill 

cession  and  arbitration,  and  thus  induced  many  contestants 
to  consent  to  a  reference,  by  which  means  many  cases,  giv- 
ing promise  of  rich  pickings,  were  compromised  before  they 
ever  came  before  the  courts.  Some  of  the  more  rapacious 
and  hawk-like  lawyers  would  have  gladly  had  him  expelled 
from  the  courts,  or,  in  legal  parlance,  "  thrown  over  the  bar." 
If  that  would  have  only  put  an  end  to  his  practice,  he  would 
have  thanked  them  for  such  manifestation  of  their  apprecia- 
tion and  regard ;  but,  as  people  who  did  not  know  him  might 
construe  the  act  to  his  discredit,  he  thought  the  wiser  course 
was,  not  to  unnecessarily  provoke  the  anger  of  his  profes- 
sional brethren,  but,  in  cases  like  this  of  Craig  and  Cook, 
not  to  let  his  right  hand  know  what  his  left  hand  was  doing. 

The  crafty  lawyer,  having  weighed  the  matter  well,  decid- 
ed on  this  course ;  and,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the  troublesome 
business  as  soon  as  possible,  he  sent  a  note  to  Cook  to  come 
up  to  his  house  the  next  day  at  four  o'clock,  and  get  his 
money,  but  not  to  mention  the  subject  to  any  of  his  neigh- 
bors. Craig  received  a  similar  message,  but  was  to  attend 
an  hour  later. 

Both  were  punctual  on  this  occasion,  if  never  before. 
Cook,  coming  first,  asked  how  he  had  "  managed  to  make 
that  obstinate  old  critter  fork  over."  Gomery  replied,  it  was 
better  for  him  to  pay  fifteen  dollars,  without  going  to  law, 
than  spend  two  hundred,  and  perhaps  get  nothing  at  last. 

"  Get  nothin' :  I  guess  he  wouldn't.  He'd  had  to  pay  at 
least  fifty  dollars,  and  the  costs  of  the  court  too.  Me  and 
my  wife,  we  talked  it  over ;  and  both  said,  if  I  hadn't  prom- 
ised to  take  the  fifteen  dollars,  we'd  got  fifty,  certain,  by  goin' 
to  law.  My  wife  is  a  very  high-spirited  woman,  Square  ;  and 
she  hates  Craig  and  Craig's  wife ;  and  Lucy,  she  says,  is  a 
proud,  stuck-up  minx,  and  wonders  Caleb  Thornton  hain't 
got  more  sense  than  to  have  such  a  silly  thing." 

"  In  this  way  is  she  showing  her  new  heart  ?  "  mildly  sug- 
gested Gomery. 

"  Square  Gomery,  I  respect  you  as  a  man  and  a  lawyer ; 
but  of  spiritual  things  you  know  no  more  than  a  child  un- 
born. The  saints  have  trials  as  well  as  sinners ;  and  in  this 
we  know  we  are  of  the  elect." 

"  Conclusive  reasoning,"  said  the  lawyer  with  a  shrug. 
"  But  this  meeting  is  for  business,  not  to  talk  religion.  When 
we  get  our  business  relations  arranged,  we  are  in  a  much 


112  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

better  position  to  obey  the  Golden  Rule,  and  do  as  we  would 
be  done  by.  Now,  you  get  all  you  claim  that  Craig  owes 
you ;  and  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  for  you  to  make  up 
and  be  friends  again,  and  promise  me  not  to  open  the  subject 
with  him  again.     Let  by-gones  be  by-gones." 

"  Of  course,  Square :  I  agree  to  that.  As  he  has  done 
what  is  reasonable,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  forget  and  forgive. 
But  it  will  be  mighty  hard  for  me  to  sit  at  communion  with 
him." 

"And  why?" 

"  Because  he  has  done  me  great  injustice,  and  has  said 
things  that  were  untrue  about  me  and  my  family ;  and  has, 
in  many  things,  shown  himself  my  enemy." 

"Neighbor  Cook,  what  is  the  object  of  your  church  com- 
munion ?  " 

"Object,  Square!  —  object!  I  am  astonished  you  should 
ask  that  question.  Ain't  it  ordered  in  Scripter  ?  and  musn't 
we  obey  Scripter  ?  and  shall  we  not  follow  its  commandments, 
if  we  are  not  bound  to  the  place  where  the  fire  is  not 
quenched  and  their  worm  dieth  not  ?  But  you  don't  believe 
in  Scripter ;  that  is,  no,  I  don't  mean  that  you  are  a  heathen. 
But  what  would  be  the  use  of  Scripter  if  there  ain't  no  hell 
torments ;  if  we  are  all  goin'  to  heaven  ?  If  we  are  all  goin' 
to  heaven  whether  or  no,  what  is  the  use  of  preachin'  and 
prayin',  and  goin'  to  meetin',  and  buildin'  meetin'-houses  ? 
We  don't  make  nothin'  by  it." 

"  Then  you  expect  to  be  paid  for  your  religion !  You  keep 
an  account  with  your  Maker,  and  only  sin  so  much  as  will  be 
safe,  and  yet  leave  you  sure  of  heaven !  The  Devil  is  your 
keeper,  is  he  ?  " 

"Square,  I  hain't  got  so  much  larnin'  as  you  have.  I  only 
read  my  Bible,  and  believe  it." 

"  Do  you  love  your  enemies  ?  " 

"Yes;  that  is,  the  most  of  them,  —  all  but  Craig;  and, 
now  he  has  done  what  is  about  right,  I  sha'n't  be  obstinate. 
But  I  wouldn't  have  taken  a  cent  less." 

"  What  other  enemies  have  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don'  know.     Don'  know  as  I  'ave  got  any." 

"  Then  you  only  love  your  friends  ;  and  the  publicans  and 
sinners  do  that!     What  thanks  have  you,  then,  for  that?" 

"  I  don't  say,  Square,  I  am  so  good  as  I  o'rt  to  be ;  but  I 
believe  the  Bible,  every  word  of  it.     I  believe  in  all  its  glori- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  113 

ous  promises  that  we  shall  be  raised  in  glory ;  I  mean,  we 
righteous ;  that  is,  we  believers :  and  that  we  shall  see  the 
justice  of  God  manifest  in  the  condemnation  of  the  wicked, 
and  shall  sing  praises  to  him  for  it." 

"And  are  those  the  wicked,  or  the  saints,  that  love  not 
their  enemies  ?  " 

"You  know  nothing  about  it,  Square.  The  unregenerate, 
as  Elder  Millson  says,  are  full  of  subtle  craft,  and  would  de- 
ceive the  very  elect.     But  my  refuge,  my  rock,  is  the  Bible." 

"Do  you  understand  it  all  ?  " 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  do  that  of  myself;  but  as  it  is  ex- 
plained by  the  ordained  preachers,  by  the  aid  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  I  see  it  and  know  it  all." 

"But  many  others — as  honest,  as  devotional  as  you, 
taught  by  their  priests  and  bishops  —  see  many  things  in  it 
in  a  very  different  light." 

"  Why,  Square,  I  am  astonished  at  your  ignorance  !  —  you, 
a  man  that  has  read  and  studied  so  much  as  you !  It  is  just 
as  it  is  writ  in  the  Bible  ;  and  that,  we  know,  is  true  ;  for  it 
says  so.     It  says  all  scripter  is  given  by  inspiration." 

"  What  is  meant  by  that  word  '  scripture   ?  " 

"  The  Bible,  of  course.  Why,  I  am  out  of  patience  with 
your  ignorance ! " 

"  I  know  it's  unfortunate  to  be  so  ignorant ;  but  let  us  ex- 
amine. '  Scripture '  is  from  the  Latin  word  scripta,  and  means 
'writings.'  Now,  you  don't  pretend  that  all  writings  are 
true?" 

"  No,  not  that :  only  the  Bible." 

"  But,  when  that  passage  was  written,  much  of  the  Bible 
had  not  been.  Is  it  only  that  part,  then,  which  was  written 
before  that  passage  you  have  quoted  ?  " 

"Don't  you  believe  the  Bible,  Square  Gomery?" 

"  I  believe  that  Jesus  Christ  had  a  divine  commission. 
The  record  of  his  life  is  enough  for  me.  No  man  of  mere 
human  will  and  power  ever  spake  and  did  as  he.  His  life 
was  a  living  sermon ;  and,  if  I  imitate  him  to  the  best  of  my 
weak  nature,  I  will  leave  the  rest  to  God." 

"  And  don't  you  believe  in  the  savin'  grace  ?  " 

"  Saving  from  what  ?  " 

"  Savin'  from  hell,  to  be  sure." 

"  I  thought  that  Christ's  mission  was  to  save  people  from 
their  sins :  but  I  find  that  many  of  his  professed  followers 
10* 


114  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

regard  his  blood  as  a  sufficient  atonement  for  themselves,  and 
all  who  think  and  believe  as  they  do ;  and  go  on  hating  their 
enemies,  and  cheating  their  friends,  even  worse  than  the  infi- 
del. Having  made  a  contract  by  which  they  are  to  be  taken 
direct  into  heaven,  they  think  themselves  privileged  to  in- 
dulge in  all  uncharitableness  to  their  fellow-men,  and  that 
even  deeds  of  hate  and  dishonesty  will  not  be  remembered 
against  them." 

"  You  are  getting  too  personal." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  ;  and,  before  we  go  farther,  you  sign  this 
receipt,  and  here  is  the  fifteen  dollars." 

Cook  put  his  name  to  the  receipt,  and  took  the  money,  and 
deposited  it  in  his  heart-case  purse,  which  he  returned  to  his 
trousers-pocket.  He  had  hardly  done  this  when  a  knock 
was  heard  at  the  door ;  and,  in  answer  to  the  lawyer's  "  Come 
in,"  the  door  was  opened,  and  Craig  entered. 

The  farmer  shook  hands  heartily  with  the  lawyer,  but  did 
not  even  notice  the  presence  of  the  blacksmith,  who,  having 
his  money  already  in  his  pocket,  was  not  unwilling  to  receive 
friendly  advances. 

As  Cook  did  not  offer  to  leave,  but  was  determined  to  show 
that  he  would  not  give  way  to  accommodate  his  surly  neigh- 
bor, the  lawyer  invited  the  last  comer  into  an  adjoining  room, 
and,  having  closed  the  door,  wrote  a  receipt  in  full  for  all  de- 
mands against  Cook ;  and,  counting  down  seventeen  dollars  in 
money,  requested  Craig  to  sign  the  paper.  The  latter  readily 
complied,  and  inquired  how  it  was  that  he  had  induced  that 
wrong-headed,  stubborn  old  sinner  to  do  such  an  act  of 
justice. 

"  Oh !  you  never  mind  how,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  You  have 
got  your  money,  and  that  is  enough.  Your  quarrel  has  set 
the  whole  town  by  the  ears ;  and,  to  stop  it,  I  have  endeavored 
to  reconcile  you ;  and  if  you  are  going  to  continue  it,  then  it 
is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  interfere  in  behalf  of  either  of 
you." 

"  Don't  talk  so  hard,  Square.  I  am  ready  to  make  up  with 
Brother  Cook." 

"Then  promise  me  never  to  allude  to  this  subject  to  him. 
Just  consider  the  whole  thing  at  an  end,  and  never  allude  to 
it  again." 

"I'll  do  it,  Square ;  and  now  allow  me  to  say  that  I  think 
you  have  saved  us  both  from  a  great  piece  of  folly.  I  shall 
be  grateful  to  you  as  long  as  I  live." 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  115 

The  lawyer  here  opened  the  door,  and  led  the  way  back 
into  the  front  office,  followed  by  Craig,  who  now,  for  the  first 
time,  seemed  to  be  aware  of  Cook's  presence.  The  money 
that  was  jingling  in  his  pocket  had  an  effect  more  potent 
than  Thompson's  eye-water;  for  the  scales  at  once  fell  from 
his  eyes,  and  he  saw  clearly.  The  same  medicine  worked 
equally  well  in  both  cases ;  and  after  giving  each  other  a 
friendly  recognition,  and  shaking  hands  most  fraternally,  the 
following  interesting  dialogue  took  place : 

"  How  do  you  do,  Brother  Cook  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  do,  Brother  Craig  ?  " 

"  Your  folks  are  all  well,  I  hope,  Brother  Cook." 

"  Tolerably  well,  I  thank  you,  Brother  Craig ;  though  my 
wife  is  but  poorly.  She  has  not  been  able  to  go  to  meetin' 
but  twice  for  four  months." 

"  That  is  very  bad,  Brother  Cook ;  for  Brother  Millson  has 
been  preachin'  some  excellent  sarmons  lately:  that  you 
know.  I  wish  that  the  Square  here  would  go  to  our  church 
instead  of  runnin'  after  those  poor  itinerants  that  have  to 
preach  in  the  schoolhouse.  I  think  he  would  be  a  better 
man,  and  a  Christian  :  besides,  it  would  be  more  respectable, 
and  he  would  get  a  good  deal  more  practice.  I  think  you 
would  make  a  great  deal  by  it  if  you  would  only  become  a 
Christian." 

"  I  have  more  practice  now  than  it  pays  me  to  attend  to," 
quoth  the  lawyer,  a  little  piqued  at  the  summary  way  these 
two  saints  assigned  him  a  place  outside  of  the  pale  of  Chris- 
tianity ;  "  and,  if  I  come  short  in  my  daily  life  and  conversa- 
tion, I  shall  be  the  sufferer  by  it.  But,  so  long  as  my  own 
conscience  is  clear,  I  have  no  doubt  or  fear  in  trusting  myself 
to  Him  who  has  ever  shown  himself  so  kind  and  beneficent 
a  Being,  and,  above  all,  has  given  me  a  heart  appreciative 
and  thankful  for  all  his  blessings. 

1  Ten  thousand  thousand  precious  gifts 
My  daily  thanks  employ  ; 
Nor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart, 
That  tastes  these  gifts  with  joy.'  " 

"I  know,  Square,  you  have  been  a  very  fortunate  man,  and 
have  been  wonderfully  blessed  in  the  things  of  this  world. 
But  you  should  remember  how  it  was  witli  Dives.  He  had 
his  good  things  in  this  life  ;  and  in  the  next  he  lifted  up  his 


116  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

eyes,  being  in  torment,  and  prayed  for  one  drop  of  water  to 
cool  his  tongue." 

"  And  what  evil  had  Dives  done  on  earth  ?  " 

"  He  was  rich ;  and  the  Bible  says  that  it  shall  be  easier 
for  a  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  for  a 
rich  man  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

"And  yet  you  two  men,  in  your  eagerness  to  get  rich,  —  to 
be  as  Dives,  —  have  been  willing  to  tear  out  each  other's 
eyes ;  the  reward  of  which,  if  you  succeed  so  as  to  fare  sump- 
tuously every  day,  Avill  be  to  be  broiled  in  the  future  world 
on  the  Devil's  gridiron." 

"  The  unregenerate  heart  don't  understand  the  mystery  of 
these  things,"  said  Craig.  " '  Great  is  the  mystery  of  godli- 
ness.' " 

"  And  those  that  can't  understand  this  mystery  are  to  have 
the  fate  of  Dives,  are  they  ?  " 

"  They  could  understand  if  they  would.  If  they  would 
have  faith,  and  believe,  the  Spirit  would  come  to  them." 

"  How  are  they  to  have  faith  without  reason  ?  You  tell 
me  there  is  a  great  mystery ;  that  only  the  converted  can 
see  the  truth,  and  the  truth  makes  free ;  and  then  the  old 
things  pass  away,  and  the  old  Adam  is  put  off.  But  1  don't 
see  as  the  outer  life  of  the  saints,  who  profess  to  have  cruci- 
fied the  carnal  man,  is  such  as  to  lead  a  looker-on  to  suppose 
they  are  specially  favored  of  Heaven.  And  the  God  they 
worship  seems  to  be  rather  a  cruel  and  unrelenting  despot 
than  the  kind,  good  Being  who  gives  us  so  many  blessings. 
The  Devil  that  you  fear  seems  to  be  a  far  better  being  than 
the  God  you  profess  to  love.  To  me  the  God  of  Nature  is 
the  God  of  grace." 

"  The  God  of  Nature  is  the  Devil,"  said  Craig. 

"A  very  good  Devil  we  have,  then,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"  He  gives  us  so  many  blessings,  let  us  be  thankful  to  him. 
Glory  to  the  Devil !  " 

"  Mr.  Gomery,  it  is  wicked  for  you  to  talk  so ;  and  I  won't 
hear  it.  Good-by,  sir.  You  are  a  very  good  lawyer,  and  I 
don't  deny  but  you  are  an  honest  and  just  man:  but  you  are 
a  wolf,  —  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothin',  —  an  emissary  of  Satan; 
and  I  won't  talk  with  you  any  more." 

"  How  much  are  you  goin'  to  charge  for  this  business  ?  " 
asked  Cook. 

"  Of  course  he  won't  charge  any  thing,"  said  Craig.  "  He 
hain't  done  nothin',  hain't  sued  nobody  nor  nothin'." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  117 

"But  then,"  answered  the  lawyer,  "the  case  has  given  me 
a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  taken  up  a  good  deal  of  my 
time ;  and,  besides,  I  have  served  you  much  better  than  I 
could  had  either  of  you  brought  suit.  I  must  charge  you 
five  dollars  each." 

"  Five  dollars ! "  exclaimed  Craig  in  amazement ;  "  five  dol- 
lars !  'tis  extortion." 

"  'Tis  too  much,"  said  Cook. 

"  Five  dollars ;  not  a  cent  less,"  said  the  lawyer. 

Craig,  with  an  ill  grace,  took  out  five  dollars  from  the 
money  the  lawyer  had  just  given  him,  and,  looking  at  it  most 
wishfully  for  some  moments,  finally  laid  it  on  the  table. 
Cook  followed  his  example. 

"  Square  Gomery,"  said  Craig,  buttoning  up  his  coat,  and 
planting  his  hat  firmly  on  his  head,  —  "  Square  Gomery,  I 
consider  this  charge  an  imposition,  and  nothing  less  than  rank 
extortion ;  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  this  is  the  last  time 
you  will  ever  do  any  business  for  me." 

"I  say  the  same,"  joined  in  Cook. 

"But'l  want  my  receipt,  Square,"  said  Craig. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Cook. 

"  Ah !  they  are  in  the  other  room.  You  may  as  well  leave 
them  with  me.  I  shall  keep  them  safe  ;  and  they  can  be  pro- 
duced at  any  time,  if  needed." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Craig  sternly.  "I  want  my  receipt.  I 
shall  have  no  more  to  do  with  you." 

The  lawyer  went  into  the  other  room,  and  brought  out  the 
papers,  and  gave  them  to  their  respective  claimants.  With- 
out reading  them  again,  and  never  having  observed  the  pe- 
culiar wording,  each  folded  his  receipt,  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

"After  this,  Square,"  said  Craig,  "you  need  never  expect 
any  more  business  from  one  client  at  least." 

"  From  two,"  said  Cook. 

"  Very  well :  I  hope  it  may  be  so.  Good-evening,  gentle- 
men." The  lawyer  turned  to  his  desk,  and  left  his  angry 
clients  to  withdraw  at  their  pleasure.  He  was  rather  pleased 
to  have  turned  their  anger  against  himself,  as  now  they 
would  not  be  likely  to  talk  about  the  manner  in  which  their 
own  difficulties  had  been  arranged. 

The  lawyer  could  not  restrain  himself  from  laughing  when 
his  angry  neighbors  and  clients  had  left  him  to  his  own  re- 


118  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

flections.  Their  threats,  that  they  would  never  give  him  any- 
more of  their  valuable  business,  pleased  him  greatly ;  and  his 
only  fear  was  that  they  would  not  keep  their  word,  both  in 
regard  to  that  and  the  terms  on  which  the  settlement  had 
been  effected.  "  But  if,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  they  should 
ever  learn  that  the  money  they  have  paid  me  as  fees  is  only 
a  part  of  what  I  have  advanced  from  my  own  pocket  to 
save  them  from  their  own  folly,  it  may  teach  them  a  lesson 
of  charity."  Thus  saying,  he  dismissed  the  subject  from  his 
mind,  and  went  out  to  his  corn-field,  and  began  hoeing  with 
his  boys. 


A    FAMILY   HISTORY.  119 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  For  forms  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots  fight : 
His  can't  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the  right."  —  Pope. 

As  soon  as  the  wronged  and  indignant  victims  of  irreli- 
gious cupidity  found  themselves  in  the  street,  they  joined  in 
harmonious  execration  of  the  unjust  lawyer;  and  the  hate 
that  a  little  before  they  had  felt  towards  each  other  was 
now  allowed  to  flow  in  one  common  stream  of  abuse  of 
Gomery  of  Montgomery.  How  is  it  that  a  common  object 
of  hate  often  makes  men  friends,  while  a  common  object  of 
love  makes  them  envious  and  jealous,  —  haters  and  revilers 
of  one  another? 

Cook  had  come  up  to  the  Pivot  on  foot,  while  Craig 
had  come  in  his  old  one-horse  wagon ;  and,  as  they  were 
both  going  back  to  the  village,  the  latter  said,  "Brother 
Cook,  will  you  ride  with  me?  I  am  going  right  by  your 
shop,  and  then  I  am  going  to  the  mill  to  get  a  grist  I  left 
there  as  I  came  along." 

Nothing  loath,  his  neighbor  got  into  the  wagon ;  and  away 
the  lazy  old  horse  jogged  toward  the  village.  On  their  way, 
they  said  they  would  go  to  the  post-office  and  get  their 
papers  that  they  supposed  had  arrived  that  afternoon.  The 
office  was  kept  in  Caleb  Thornton's  store,  which  was  the 
principal  one  in  the  place ;  and  this  evening,  as  it  happened 
to  be  Saturday,  an  unusual  number  of  people  were  collected 
in  and  around  it.  As  is  generally  the  case  in  and  about 
country  villages,  Saturday  afternoon  was  the  time  when  the 
heads  of  families  sought  a  little  relaxation  and  recreation  by 
resorting  to  the  centre  of  news,  politics,  and  religion,  and 
discussing  all  these  subjects  with  their  neighbors,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  purchased  their  groceries  and  small  stores  for 
the  family  consumption.  In  these  discussions,  not  a  few  used 
to  get  the  aid  of  John  Barleycorn  to  help  out  their  causes  • 


120  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

and,  when  inspired  by  that  "  hero  bold,"  they  not  only  often 
waxed  eloquent,  but  not  unfrequently  were  carried  home 
with  broken  heads  and  other  wounds  received  in  the  form 
of  knock-down  arguments. 

On  this  particular  occasion,  the  crowd  in  the  village  was 
uncommonly  large,  even  for  a  Saturday ;  and  great  was  the 
astonishment  when  they  saw  Brother  Craig  and  Brother 
Cook  drive  up  in  the  same  wagon.  They  had  all  known 
that  the  two  had  been  on  very  bad  terms  for  several  weeks, 
and  that  each  had  threatened  to  have  justice  from  the  other 
if  it  took  the  last  dollar  of  his  property;  and  their  kind 
friends  were  expecting  a  fine  feast  of  scandal  and  excitement 
when  the  two  worthies  should  get  mixed  up  in  the  dread  uncer- 
tainties of  the  law ;  and  each  was  trying  to  keep  the  other  in 
front  of  him  on  the  road  to  ruin.  It  was  evident,  at  a  glance, 
that  they  were  to  be  disappointed  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  two 
had  got  out  of  the  wagon,  and  had  separated  a  little  distance 
from  each  other,  Tom  Bryan,  who  had  been  a  great  partisan 
of  Craig,  took  him  aside,  and  asked  him  how  it  was  that  they 
so  easily  settled  their  difficulties.  Craig  replied  that  Cook 
was  not  so  unreasonable,  after  all,  but  had  come  down  from 
his  high  horse ;  and,  when  he  made  him  an  offer,  he  acted 
like  a  brother  Christian,  and  accepted  it ;  and  they  had  made 
all  up,  and  passed  receipts.  "But,"  said  he,  " Cook  had  to 
yield.  I  had  my  way ;  and,  if  he  hadn't  knuckled  under,  I  never 
would  have  settled  without  puttin'  him  through  a  course,  of 
law.     But  don't  say  any  thing  about  it." 

Cook  had  made  a  similar  statement  to  Bion  Teague,  one 
of  his  partisans,  saying  that  Craig  had  shown  himself  a  man, 
and  had  yielded  all  pretension  that  the  balance  was  in  his 
favor,  being  convinced  that  he  was  in  the  wrong.  His  con- 
duct now  had  proved  him  to  be  the  same  good  Christian 
and  brother  that  he  had  thought  him  for  years ;  and  his  con- 
duct in  this  case  showed  the  effect  of  severe  religious  doc- 
trine on  a  man's  life,  since  it  contrasted  strongly  with  that 
of  the  unbelieving  Gomery  of  Montgomery,  who  had  been 
so  unjust  and  extortionate  as  to  charge  them  five  dollars 
each  for  doing  nothing  but  talk  over  the  matter,  when  they 
might  just  as  well  have  talked  it  over  among  themselves. 

Each  brother  warmly  commended  the  other  for  giving 
way,  and  both  spoke  of  the  lawyer  as  a  heathen  and  extor- 
tioner. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  121 

But,  unfortunately,  the  two  friends  of  the  respective  par- 
ties, when  they  came  together,  fell  to  talking  on  the  same 
matter;  and,  naturally,  Lawyer  Gomery's  scheme  of  adjust- 
ment must  come  out,  and,  of  course,  must  cause  a  great  ex- 
plosion. 

"  I  didn't  think  old  Craig  would  back  down  quite  so  meek- 
ly," said  Teague.  "  Still,  I  always  knew  he  was  a  great  brag ; 
always  talking  of  what  he  is  going  to  do,  but  never  doing  it." 

"  He  didn't  back  down  at-  all,"  sharply  retorted  Bryan. 
"He  just  told  me  so." 

"  Yes,  he  did :  he  backed  clean  out.  Cook  just  told  me 
that  he  made  his  terms,  and  gave  them  to  Squire  Gomery; 
and  that  Craig  acted  like  a  man,  and  came  up  handsomely 
and  settled  on  them  terms,  and  so  admitted  he  had  been  in 
the  wrong.  But,"  he  said,  "  the  lawyer  had  played  'em  a 
scurvy  trick ;  for,  though  he  did  nothing,  he  charged  'em  five 
dollars  apiece.  I've  long  thought  Gomery  was  no  better 
than  other  folks,  for  all  that  they  are  always  telling  what  an 
honorable  man  he  is.  I've  thought  so  ever  since  he  took 
Brown's  part  agin  me  five  years  ago,  when  I  lost,  and  had  to 
sell  off  part  of  my  land.  Now  I  know  it.  But  here  comes 
the  man  himself.  —  Mr.  Cook,  I  say:  Bt-yan  says  that  you 
backed  down,  and  came  to  Craig's  terms,  and  paid  him  his 
money." 

"  Didn't  back  out  at  all,  Teague.  Brother  Craig  yielded  to 
my  terms,  and  it  was  on  the  terms  I  gave  to  the  Square 
that  we  settled  ;  and  I've  got  the  money  now,  all  but  what 
Gomery  grabbed  away  from  me.  So  there  was  no  backing 
out  on  my  part.  I  would  have  spent  the  last  cent  I  have 
in  the  world  before  I  would  have  backed  down  a  single  inch, 
much  regard  as  I  have  for  Brother  Craig.  Here  he  comes 
now. —  Brother  Craig,  these  fellers  will  have  it  that  I  backed 
out  about  the  lawsuit.  I  promised  Gomery  to  say  nothing 
about  it :  but  you  can  just  tell  them  that  it  was  no  such  thing ; 
that  you,  finding  yourself  in  the  wrong,  came  to  my  terms, 
and  paid  the  balance  due  me." 

"  But  I  didn't  do  no  such  thing.  It  was  you  that  come  to 
my  terms.  You  know  I  never  back  down  :  I  only  ask  what 
is  right,  and  that  I  will  have ;  for  I  never  submit  to  any  thing 
that  is  wrong." 

"I  didn't  think  that  of  you,  Mr.  Craig:  you  know  you 
backed  down." 
11 


122  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY; 

"  You  backed  down  yourself." 

"That  is  a  lie!" 

Whack !  was  the  answer  of  Brother  Cook,  as  his  heavy  fist 
flew  up  and  hit  the  affectionate  cheek  of  Brother  Craig  a 
blow,  at  which  he  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen  but  for  the 
crowd,  that,  as  the  conversation  had  waxed  warm  and  inter- 
esting, had  gathered  close  around  the  angry  disputants.  In- 
stead of  turning  his  other  cheek  to  his  erring  brother,  he 
drew  up  his  own  brawny  arm  to  strike  back,  but  was  re- 
strained by  the  spectators. 

"  I  say  you  are  a  liar,  Mr.  Cook ! "  he  roared  out ;  for  his 
tongue  was  not  pinioned,  though  his  arms  were.  "You 
backed  out,  and  you  know  you  did ;  and  I  have  got  your 
receipt  in  my  pocket." 

"  And  I  have  got  yours  too ;  and  you  paid  me  seventeen 
dollars  to  square  accounts ;  and  you  have  been  braggin'  that 
I  owed  you  seventy  or  eighty  dollars,  and  would  sue  me  if  I 
didn't  pay  you." 

"  I  didn't  pay  you  seventeen  dollars,  neither.  You  paid 
me  fifteen ;  and  only  last  week  you  said  you  wouldn't  take  a 
cent  less  than  seventy-five." 

"  Here  is  the  receipt,"  said  Craig,  drawing  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  "  writ  in  Square  Gomery's  handwriting.  Read  that, 
Mr.  Bryan,  and  tell  us  if  it  ain't  so." 

Bryan  took  the  paper,  and  read :  — 

"Received  this  October  14,  183-,  by  hand  of  Freeborn 
Gomery,  on  account  of  Jabez  Craig,  fifteen  dollars,  in  full  of 
all  demands.  "Levi  Cook." 

"But  I  never  paid  the  seventeen  dollars,"  said  Craig  in 
surprise,  not  having  observed  before  that  Cook's  receipt  was 
so  worded." 

"  And  I  never  paid  the  fifteen  dollars,"  said  Cook  in  his 
turn,  drawing  forth  the  receipt  which  he  had  received  from 
the  lawyer,  with  Craig's  signature  to  it.  "  I  now  understand 
why  the  lawyer  wanted  us  to  leave  the  receipts  with  him. 
He  was  mean  enough  to  charge  us  five  dollars  apiece  for 
doing  nothing,  and  wanted  to  keep  our  receipts  besides." 

"  Then  the  Square  has  made  up  the  difference,"  said  little 
Diller,  the  landlord  of  the  tavern,  who,  like  the  stormy  petrel, 
always  delighted  to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  tempest.  "  He  found 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  123 

you  were  a  couple  of  such  bull-heads,  that  you  would  ruin 
yourselves  in  order  to  ruin  each  other.  You  wanted  to  bite 
off  your  noses  to  spite  your  faces.  Pretty-looking  fellers 
you'd  be  without  noses.  So,  to  save  your  pretty  mugs, 
Gomery  of  Montgomery  has  paid  over  thirty  odd  dollars ; 
and  yet  you  are  abusing  him  for  charging  ten  dollars  fees." 

Brother  Craig  looked  at  Brother  Cook. 

Brother  Cook  looked  at  Brother  Craig. 

"  Did  you,"  said  he,  "  pay  Square  Gomery  fifteen  dollars 
forme?" 

"No:  I  received  seventeen  dollars  from  him  on  your 
account." 

"  Well,  then,  it  was  because  he  knew  you  was  an  unjust 
man,  a  mean  old  skin-flint,  and  didn't  want  me  to  go  to  law 
and  waste  my  property  on  such  carrin." 

"Don't  talk  so  to  me,  Mr.  Craig!     You  are  a  liar ! " 

Here  the  two  were  on  the  point  of  coming  to  blows  again  ; 
when  a  third  brother  got  between  them,  and  said,  "Let  us 
have  no  fighting.  It  is  all  the  fault  of  these  lawyers.  It  is 
only  a  device  of  Satan  to  bring  scandal  upon  us,  and  make 
a  breach  in  the  church." 

"  I  think,"  said  a  stranger  who  chanced  to  be  present,  "  you 
have  a  queer  kind  of  a  lawyer  here." 

"  He  is  a  great  rascal ! "  said  Cook. 

"That  is  false,"  said  Simeon  Carter,  the  head  stockman  of 
the  sawmill.  "It  is  false,  I  say;  and  any  man  that  says  any 
thing  agin  Squire  Gomery  is  a  liar ;  and  I'll  fight  him,  if  he 
dares ! " 

"You  are  right,"  said  Caleb  Thornton,  who  now,  for  the 
first  time,  interposed.  "These  men  are  angry  with  him  for 
saving  them  from  foolish  and  expensive  litigation  at  his  own 
expense. — Isn't  it  so?"  he  continued,  turning  to  them. 
"  You  get  into  a  quarrel ;  and  he  spends  not  only  time  and 
money  to  reconcile  you,  and  yet  you  abuse  him.  Now,  I  have 
a  proposition  to  make.  It  is  that  you  refund  the  thirty  odd 
dollars  that  Gomery  of  Montgomery  has  paid  to  save  you 
from  ruin,  and  then  that  you  go  right  to  law,  and  fight  it 
out.  I  have  got  a  thousand  dollars  in  my  store  that  I  want 
to  put  out  at  interest ;  and  I  will  lend  five  hundred  to  each  of 
you,  and  take  mortgages  on  your  property ;  and,  when  you 
have  spent  that  in  law,  I  will  let  you  have  more ;  and  then, 


124  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

in  a  couple  of  years  or  so,  I  will  get  Craig's  farm,  and  Cook's 
house  and  shop,  and  you  will  both  get  law  and  justice." 

"  Good  !  "  shouted  several.  "  That's  the  way  to  do,  —  eat 
each  other  up."  Brother  Cook  did  not  raise  his  eyes  again, 
but  walked  deliberately  away  to  his  shop.  Brother  Craig 
got  into  his  wagon,  and,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left, 
drove  directly  home. 

When  these  two  came  to  reflect  upon  their  conduct,  it 
may  well  be  supposed  they  were  more  heartily  ashamed  of 
themselves  than  they  ever  had  been  before  in  all  their  lives  ; 
and,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  Cook,  who  intended  to  be  scru- 
pulously honest  and  fair  in  all  his  dealings,  —  a  good  citizen, 
a  hard-working,  blunt,  honest  blacksmith,  whose  work  was 
never  slighted,  —  stole  quietly  forth  from  his  house,  and  at 
about  eight  o'clock  his  knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the 
big  house  at  the  Pivot.  Being  bid  to  enter,  he  went  in  ;  and, 
as  soon  as  he  opened  the  door  of  the  parlor,  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  smilingly  incredulous  face  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.-Gomery, 
who  to  his  eyes  looked  no  less  fair  than  she  did  many  years 
before,  when  he  had  first  seen  her,  a  young  bride,  soon  after 
her  arrival  at  her  new  home.  She  was  sitting  in  a  large 
rocking-chair,  holding  a  child  of  some  six  or  eight  months 
old  on  her  lap,  which  she  was  dandling  and  chattering  to, 
looking  the  very  picture  of  matronly  content  and  joy.  The 
arrival  of  this  younger  scion  of  the  house  of  Gomery  was 
recorded  at  the  close  of  the  last  chapter.  He  had  been 
named  Walter,  after  his  grandfather,  old  Judge  Mackenzie, 
who,  about  a  year  before,  had  departed  on  his  final  journey 
to  the  unseen  land.  Mrs.  Gomery  looked  up  from  the  smil- 
ing, healthy  little  face  that  lay  thus  in  its  natural  cradle ;  and 
her  knowing  and  pleasant  look  made  the  blacksmith  feel 
more  confused  and  ashamed  than  ever.  But  when  in  an 
instant  he  saw  Craig  was  there  before  him,  standing  with 
his  purse  in  his  hand,  and  counting  out  some  money  to  the 
lawyer,  he  took  courage,  and  said,  — 

"  I  must  pay  back  too.  I  have  been  very  much  to  blame, 
Square;  but  I  am  a  man  that  pays  his  debts,  and  tries  to  live 
honestly.     Here  is  the  fifteen  dollars." 

"  I  only  want  ten  from  you,  as  I  have  taken  only  twelve 
from  Mr.  Craig.  I  shall  only  take  back  what  I  have  paid  out ; 
and  if  by  my  services  I  have  saved  two  of  my  neighbors, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  125 

whom  I  have  always  respected,  from  a  long  and  serious  law- 
suit, I  shall  consider  myself  well  paid  for  my  trouble." 

Neither  could  say  a  word  in  reply  to  this ;  and,  though  Mrs. 
Gomery  tried  to  get  some  words  from  them  in  regard  to  their 
family  matters,  they  felt  so  awkward  and  confused,  that  they 
directly  withdrew.  When  outside  of  the  door,  they  stood  on 
the  steps  a  moment,  feeling  about  as  guilty  and  ashamed  as 
it  may  be  supposed  they  would  have  felt  if  caught  stealing 
sheep.  They  were  even  ashamed  to  begin  "brothering"  each 
other;  and  so,  without  saying  a  word,  they  went  separately 
to  their  respective  homes. 

The  conduct  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery  in  this  affair, 
though  characteristic,  was  so  entirely  unprofessional,  that  the 
little  business  that  he  had  retained,  up  to  this  time  against 
his  will,  abruptly  fell  off.  In  fact,  it  seemed  to  j3ut  a  total 
stop  to  all  litigation  in  that  town  for  the  next  two  years ;  so 
that  Clofton,  when  his  board  bill  at  Diller's  would  bear  no 
longer  extension,  was  obliged  to  leave.  He  left  the  place 
with  a  bad  impression  of  the  character  of  the  people,  and 
said  they  were  the  meanest-spirited  set  he  ever  saw ;  for  there 
was  not  a  man  among  them  who  had  the  pluck  to  stand  up 
for  his  rights,  if  it  were  to  cost  him  four  and  sixpence.  The 
case  was  a  standing  joke  for  a  long  time  ;  and  no  one  seemed 
to  enjoy  it  more  after  a  little  while  than  Craig  and  Cook, 
and  they  could  never  meet  each  other  for  a  year  after  with- 
out inquiring  one  of  the  other  when  he  was  intending  to 
commence  that  lawsuit.  Whenever  there  happened  to  be 
any  dispute  between  neighbors,  and  either  threatened  to  go 
to  law,  it  was  only  necessary  to  propose  to  refer  it  to  Gomery 
of  Montgomery;  and  such  resort  would  appear  so  ludicrous 
and  absurd,  that  no  one  had  the  assurance  to  insist  upon  it. 
So,  instead  of  going  to  law  to  get  damages  for  the  mischief 
done  by  a  breachy  cow,  or  compel  a  settlement  of  longstand- 
ing accounts  at  an  expense  most  likely  exceeding  the  whole 
amount  in  dispute,  the  disagreeing  parties  were  in  a  manner 
compelled  by  the  public  sentiment  to  leave  it  out  to  either 
one  or  three  disinterested  persons,  who  would  not  charge 
more  than  half  a  dollar  each  for  sitting  in  judgment,  and 
who,  if  they  gave  original  law,  generally  gave  old-fashioned 
justice.-  The  case  of  Craig  and  Cook  became  a  by-word  in 
this  town,  and  was  as  frequently  alluded  to  as  in  after-years 
11*  .* 


126  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY: 

was  the  famous  case  of  Dred  Scott  in  the  halls  of  Congress. 
To  Lawyer  Goraery  it  proved  an  advantage  entirely  unantici- 
pated. After  that  he  was  not  disturbed  by  his  friends  and 
neighbors  coming  to  him  with  their  complaints.  He  was 
thenceforth  regarded  as  an  oracle  of  wisdom,  and  respected  too 
much  for  any  one  to  think  of  annoying  him  with  his  petty 
troubles. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  127 


CHAPTER    XI. 

Where  yet  was  ever  found  a  mother 

Who'd  give  her  booby  for  another  ?  "  —  Gay. 

The  family  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery,  consisting  now  of 
two  daughters  and  three  sons,  was  naturally  enough  the 
principal  object  of  the  father's  care  and  solicitude.  The  two 
daughters  were  just  emerging  from  the  state  of  girlhood,  and 
gave  promise  of  being  as  fair  as  their  mother  had  been  at  the 
time  she  had  captured  their  fortunate  father.  They  were 
somewhat  hoidenish  at  this  age,  and  delighted  to  take  part 
in  the  rough  out-door  sports  of  their  brothers.  They  had 
never  attended  any  school  but  the  public  school  of  the  vil- 
lage; and,  as  the  Pivot  was  a  long  mile  from  the  school- 
house,  they  had  a  good  invigorating  walk  every  morning 
and  evening,  if  the  weather  was  fair ;  but,  if  not,  the  old  man- 
servant, Ethan  Hurd,  who  had  lived  with  them  ever  since 
they  could  remember,  would  harness  up  old  "  Barnacle  "  in 
the  winter  to  a  lumber-box,  and  in  the  summer  to  a  low-cov- 
ered wagon,  and  drive  them  to  and  from  the  schoolhouse. 
"Barnacle  "  was  an  old  horse  that  knew  enough  to  make  him- 
self the  pet  of  the  children,  and  thereby  secure  many  a  savory 
morsel,  many  sweet  apples,  and  many  nibs  of  corn  ;  and,  in  re- 
turn for  these  toothsome  dainties,  he  allowed  them  to  play  all 
manner  of  tricks  with  him ;  to  ride  two  or  three  at  once ;  to 
pull  his  tail,  and  crawl  between  his  legs.  He  never  resented 
these  liberties  further  than  gently  to  raise  one  hind  foot  and 
hold  it  up,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  could  if  I  would,  and  you 
had  better  take  care."  The  name  of  this  venerable  beast  had 
been  bestowed  on  him  by  an  occasional  visitor  to  Montgom- 
ery Village,  who  had  a  great  propensity  to  roam  about  the 
old  house  on  the  hill,  and  talk  of  the  strange  events  of  its 
early  history.  He  was  a  sort  of  vagabond  sailor,  and  pre- 
tended to  have  been  all  over  the  world.     He  was  a  stout, 


128  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

broad-shouldered,  powerfully  built  man,  active  and  athletic, 
with  eyes  bright  and  merry,  and  a  nose  the  bridge  of  which 
had  once  been  broken,  so  that  his  nostrils  opened  directly  in 
front,  and  looked  more  like  two  worm  holes  in  a  board  than 
the  olfactories  of  a  human  face.  But  the  extreme  humor 
that  was  ever  flowing  from  his  mouth  served  well  to  divert 
attention  from  his  strange-looking  nose ;  for  he  could  tell 
stories  and  sing  songs  for  hours,  and  his  fund  would  seem  in- 
exhaustible ;  and  he  had  always  a  joke  or  repartee  with  which 
to  interlard  his  conversation  and  silence  cavillers.  The  name 
of  this  singular  character  was  Joe  Pumpagin,  though  few  peo- 
ple knew  him  by  any  other  cognomen  than  "Old  Joe."  But  he 
was  not  old  when  he  first  was  known  in  the  village  ;  and  at 
the  present  time  he  might  have  been  taken  for  any  age  be- 
tween thirty-five  and  fifty.  Lawyer  Gomery,  at  this  time, 
though  frequently  called  the  "old  Squire,"  or  more  frequently 
"  Square,"  was,  nevertheless,  but  little  past  forty;  and,  if  I 
were  to  guess,  I  should  say  that  old  Joe  was  his  senior  by  five 
or  six  years. 

Both  Freeborn  Gomery  and  his  wife  had  always  intended 
to  give  their  children  a  better  education  than  could  be  ac- 
quired in  the  schools  of  the  village;  and,  the  summer  preced- 
ing the  events  narrated  in  the  last  chapter,  the  two  daughters 
had  bedn  sent  away  to  a  neighboring  academy,  distant  some 
fifty  miles  from  Montgomery.  This  institution  deservedly 
enjoyed  a  high  reputation ;  and  the  letters  that  the  parents 
received  from  their  daughters  showed  that  they  had  put 
away  for  the  time  all  thoughts  of  gayety  and  romping  play, 
and  were  studying  with  all  desirable  enthusiasm  and  ardor. 
These  letters  were  not  of  the  balls  and  parties  they  would 
miss  by  being  at  school,  and  which  they  had  so  much  enjoyed 
the  winter  before,  but  of  arithmetic  and  algebra,  of  natural 
philosophy,  geography,  and  the  French  language,  of  drawing 
and  English  composition.  Juliet,  the  elder  of  the  two,  com- 
plained a  great  deal  of  the  difficulty  of  the  latter;  for  she 
said  that  the  preceptor  gave  them  subjects  of  which  she 
could  think  of  nothing  to  say  that  she  could  not  find  bet- 
ter said  in  books,  and  which  the  preachers  were  not  always 
saying  in  their  sermons.  One  time  the  subject  would  be 
the  beauties  of  summer;  another,  the  pleasures  of  winter; 
again  they  would  be  required  to  write  on  hope ;  then  again 
on  youth ;  on  virtue,  temperance,  and  so  on,  when  she  didn't 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  129 

care  to  say  a  word  on  any  of  them.  Rose,  however,  —  the 
younger  of  the  sisters,  who  had  more  ingenuity,  —  would  put 
the  title  assigned  at  the  head  of  her  theme,  and  then  go  off 
in  a  tangent  to  express  what  she  had  to  say  on  any  thing  else. 
When  the  novel  subject,  Hope,  was  given  out,  she  began  by 
saying  she  hoped  to  have  again  such  a  jolly  time  as  she  re- 
membered at  a  bee  for  sliding  down  hill ;  and  then  she  went 
off  into  a  ludicrous  description  of  the  party,  —  the  upsets,  the 
boys  fighting,  the  whole  party  staying  too  late,  when  her 
father  came  out  with  a  stick  in  his  hand,  and  drove  his  truant 
flock  home  like  so  many  sheep. 

It  was  during  the  autumn  that  Juliet  and  Rose  were 
at  the  academy  for  their  first  term,  and  about  two  weeks  after 
the  great  case  of  Craig  and  Cook  had  been  arranged,  that 
the  long-time  servant-maid  of  Mrs.  Gomery  was  walking  up 
and  down,  one  bright  morning  near  the  last  of  October,  in 
the  back-yard  or  court  of  the  Pivot,  and  before  the  kitchen 
door,  bearing  in  her  arms  the  youngest  Gomery.  The  ser- 
vant's name  was  Prudence  Dodge ;  and  she  was  amusing  her- 
self and  her  charge  by  feeding  the  chickens,  and  singing 
scraps  of  hymns  and  songs  that  she  had  learned  a  great  many 
years  before.  The  morning  was  beautiful,  the  sun  warm 
and  genial,  and  the  air  bracing  and  fresh,  so  as  to  cause  all 
animated  things  to  experience  a  pleasure  in  mere  existence. 

While  thus  engaged,  the  discreet  Prudence  was  startled  to 
hear,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  familiar,  "  It's  a  boy !  " 

She  turned,  and  standing  before  her  was  Kitty  Floyd,  the 
only  daughter  of  the  nearest  neighbor  of  the  Gomerys. 

"  Of  course  it's  a  boy,"  said  Prudence.  "  They  wouldn't 
call  a  girl  Walter,  would  they  ?  " 

"  Oh !  I  don't  mean  Walter.  I  mean  Betsey  Fabyan's 
baby.  I  met  the  doctor  this  morning  as  he  was  coming 
down  the  lane  from  their  house ;  and  he  said  it  was  a  boy, 
and  mother  and  child  were  doing  as  well  as  could  be  ex- 
pected." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Well,  I  dun'no.  Betsey  will  be 
mighty  proud  now,  I  'spect ;  and  so  will  George.  Oh,  I 
am  so  glad  for  'em !  because  they  are  always  so  anxious  the 
first  time." 

"  And  don't  it  beat  it  all  ?  This  makes  five  babies  born  in 
Montgomery  this  year  since  Fast  Day.  I  declare,  it's  quite 
discouraging ! " 


130  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

"Pshaw!  what  do  you  know  about  these  things,  Kitty? 
You  are  only  twenty  years  old  yet ;  I  am  past  fifty :  and  I 
guess  there  will  be  a  lot  more  afore  Thanksgiving.  Let  me 
see :  there  is  John  Eckerman's  wife  has  been  married  nearly 
a  year ;  then  Levi  Chetwood's  wife  has  one  every  two  years, 
and  this  is  her  year ;  and  the  Widow  Sawbuckle  has  been 
engaged  already  to  nurse  Mis'  Sanderson  ;  and  I  say,  Kitty, 
I  don't  know  what  the  world  is  coming  to ! " 

"  Nor  I  nuther  :  there  won't  be  a  married  woman  in  all 
our  neighborhood  to  go  to  the  Thanksgiving  ball,  and  what 
a  flat  time  it  will  be !  I  declare,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they 
didn't  have  any  Thanksgiving  ball  this  year,  because  there 
will  be  so  many  babies.  And  poor  Mr.  Diller!  I  don't  know 
what  will  become  of  him;  for  he  has  been  and  built  a  great 
piece  on  to  his  hall  a-purpose  for  the  Thanksgiving  ball ;  and, 
after  all,  there  won't  be  any ; "  and  the  tears  welled  up  to  the 
eyes  of  the  poor  girl. 

"  Of  course,  there  will  be  a  ball.  There  always  is  :  and 
Mr.  Diller  aren't  afraid  of  the  babies  ;  for  he  has  put  an  addi- 
tion of  twenty  feet  to  his  hall,  and  has  already  sent  clear  to 
Tivernet  to  engage  the  music.  Of  course,  we  shall  have  our 
old  leader,  for  nobody  can  play  the  fiddle  like  him ;  but  Dil- 
ler has  engaged  another  fiddler,  a  clarionet,  and  bass-viol  from 
Tivernet.  But  why  do  you  take  on  so  about  it,  Kitty? 
You  are  always  sure  of  the  best  partners,  and  a  great  many 
say  you  dance  as  well  as  Juliet  Gomery." 

"  Prudence,  won't  you  tell  nobody  ?  " 

"No." 

"  For  sure,  —  never  ?  " 

"  Certain,  — for  sure." 

"  Now,  I  wouldn't  have  a  soul  know  it  but  you  for  the 
world." 

"  Do  tell  me,  then,  if  you  want  to  keep  it  safe  !  I  will 
never  breathe  a  word ! " 

"  Well,  then,  you  know  Isabel  Lott  what  a  proud  silly 
thing  she  is  ?  " 

"  Yes :  I  know  how  she  has  been  trying  to  cut  you  out 
with  Joel  Slocum.  She  must  think  her  pretty  face  will  do  a 
good  deal  for  her,  when  everybody  knows  what  a  temper  she 
has  got !  "    • 

"  Well,  she  can't  do  it ;  for  we  are  to  be  married  Thanks- 
giving-day morning,  —  ha,  ha ! " 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  131 

"  Kitty  Floyd !  you  don't  say  so  ?  Well,  I  do  declare !  I 
thought  I  know'd  a'raost  every  thing;  and  this  beats  me.  I 
do  say,  now,  you  have  kept  it  dreadful  secret.  I  guess  Isa- 
bel Lott  will  be  pretty  well  cut  up  when  she  hears  it.  Won't 
she  sputter  ?  " 

"  Yes :  we  are  to  be  married  on  Thanksgiving  morning, 
and  we  are  to  have  Square  Gomery  to  marry  us ;  and  then 
we  are  to  go  to  meeting  and  hear  Elder  Millson,  for  Joel's 
folks  are  that  kind ;  and  after  that  we  are  to  go  home  and 
eat  our  Thanksgiving-dinner ;  and  in  the  evening  we  shall 
go  to  the  ball,  and  the  next  morning  go  over  to  Bridge- 
ville,  where  he  is  already  getting  his  house  ready  for  us  to 
live  in  ;  and  —  oh,  dear  me !  I  am  thinking  so  much  about  it, 
I  can  hardly  catch  my  breath  !  " 

"  Well,  Kitty,  I'm  mighty  glad ;  for  Mrs.  Gomery  says  you 
are  a  good  girl,  and  I  say  so  too.  And  Joel  Slocum  is  a  very 
good  man,  and  has  property  too,  and  is  prudent  and  honest, 
and  has  a  good  business,  and  you  will  be  as  happy  as  two 
ducks ;  and  the  Square  is  to  marry  you,  and  you  are  to  go 
to  the  ball  in  the  evening !  Ain't  it  too  bad  so  many  have 
got  babies,  so  they  can't  go?" 

"Yes:  it  makes  me  so  mad!  There  won't  be  anybody 
there  to  see  my  wedding-dress  and  the  bosom-pin  and  brace- 
let that  he  is  to  give  me  for  a  wedding-present.  And,  of 
course,  I  sha'n't  dance  with  anybody  but  Joel  on  my  wedding- 
night  ;  and  there  are  only  three  or  four  married  women  in 
town  that  can  go ;  for  the  rest  are  too  old,  or  have  got  babies. 
And,  oh  dear!  I  know  it  will  be  so  stupid!  I  know  it  will!  It 
is  too  bad,  and  they  ought  to  stop  it!  " 

"  Hoity-toity,  Kitty  Floyd !  They  ought  to  stop  it,  had 
they?  You  are  setting  a  fine  example,  going  off  out  of  town 
to  marry  Joel  Slocum.  You  will  sing  another  song,  I  guess, 
next  year.  Hoity-toity,  I  say !  A  pretty  time  for  you  to 
talk  about  stopping  it ! " 

During  the  time  of  this  conversation  between  the  youthful 
Kitty  and  the  mature  Prudence,  the  young  Gomery  had  been 
seated  in  his  low  chair  that  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the 
kitchen ;  for  Prudence  had  got  tired  of  holding  him  long  before 
it  had  reached  this  point.  She  was  startled  now  at  hearing 
a  sharp  cry  from  him;  and,  turning  to  look,  saw  him  sprawl- 
ing on  the  floor,  having  fallen  from  his  chair  flat  upon  his  face. 
She  ran  and  caught  him  up  again ;  but  he  cried  as  if  nearly 


132  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

killed,  though  in  half  a  minute  he  was  laughing  again  in 
answer  to  the  good-natured  condolences  of  Kitty.  The 
mother,  having  heard  the  infantile  pipes  playing,  came  hur- 
riedly to  the  rescue  of  her  darling ;  but,  before  she  had 
reached  the  scene,  he  was  smiling,  like  Andromache,  through 
his  tears. 

"Good-morning,  Kitty,"  said  she,  after  first  seeing  that  the 
child  was  unhurt.  "  How  do  your  folks  all  do  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  Very  well,  I  thank  you.  When  did  you  hear  from  Juliet 
and  Rose?  I  hope  they  are  coming  home  before  Thanks- 
giving." 

"  No :  they  don't  wish  to  come.  I  got  a  letter  from  Rose 
last  night ;  and  she  says  the  examination  will  not  take  place 
till  a  week  after  Thanksgiving,  and  she  wouldn't  miss  it  for 
the  world.  She  says  she  expects  to  get  the  first  prize  in 
drawing  and  history,  and  shall  try  for  it  in  composition.  And 
Juliet  is  sure  of  it  in  algebra  and  Latin;  and,  of  course,  they 
can't  think  of  coming  home  before  Thanksgiving.  Of  course 
our  daughters  will  take  all  the  prizes  if  they  try." 

"  Oh,  dear !  then  I  am  so  sorry !  I  was  in  hopes  they  would 
be  here  to  attend  the  ball.  There  will  be  hardly  anybody 
to  go,  because  the  girls  are  all  married,  and  have  got  babies ; 
and  it  will  be  so  flat  and  stupid !  But  dear  me! "  she  exclaimed, 
her  eyes  brightening,  "  why  can't  you  go,  Mrs.  Gomery  ? 
We  don't  have  any  more  such  grand  balls  as  we  used  to  have 
when  you  and  the  Squire  went.  I  was  littler  than  I  am 
now ;  but  I  remember  they  all  said  that  you  danced  more 
lightsome  and  better  than  all  the  girls  in  town.  And,  when 
you  stopped  going,  a  great  many  others  stopped ;  for  they 
said  it  wasn't  fashionable.  And  then  came  the  revival;  and 
a  great  many  got  religion,  and  said  it  was  wicked  to  go  to 
balls ;  and  so,  now,  there  will  be  hardly  anybody  to  go." 

"My  dancing  days  are  over,  Kitty.  But  I  will  promise 
you  one  thing.  When  you  get  married,  I  will  dance  at  your 
wedding." 

"Will  you?  certain?" 

"I  will,  honest  and  sure." 

"  What,  if  I  get  married  this  Thanksgiving,  will  you  go 
to  the  ball?" 

"  I  will.  I  will,  sure,  if  I  am  alive  and  well,  and  Walter  is  not 
sick.     I  will  for  your  sake  ;  for  you  are  a  good  girl,  and  have 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  133 

always  been  very  kind  and  good  in  coming  to  assist  when 
any  of  us  were  sick  and  we  needed  extra  help." 

"Well,  then,  it  is  a  bargain;  for  I  am  to  be  married  on 
Thanksgiving-day  morning."    And  the  girl  laughed  a  merry, 
ringing  laugh  ;  and,  in  her  joy,  the  tears  again  came  into  her 
eyes. 
.     "  Indeed,  Kitty !    Is  that  so  ?  " 

"Yes,  it  is  ;  and  Mr.  Slocum  is  getting  his  house  ready  at 
Bridgeville ;  and  nobody  knows  it  here  but  you  and  pa  and 
ma.  We  had  it  all  arranged  last  Sunday  evening,  and  here 
it  is  Tuesday  morning ;  and  I  thought  I  should  a'  died  all 
day  yesterday,  and  I  know  I  should  a'  died  to-day,  if  I  hadn't 
come  up  here  to  tell  Prudence  about  it ;  and  I  was  so  afraid 
nobody  would  go  to  the  ball,  and  it  would  be  so  stupid. 
And  may  I  tell  folks  you  are  going  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like.     I  shall  tell  them  if  you  don't." 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am!  I  guess  there  will  be  no  holding 
back  now,  and  everybody  will  want  to  go,  and  I  am  to  be 
married ;  and,  oh  dear,  how  glad  I  am ! "  And  the  honest  girl's 
eyes  were  now  suffused  with  tears  of  joy. 

"  Well,  Kitty,  my  sweet  girl,  you  are  so  rejoiced  I  will  not 
fail  you ;  and  I  know  Mr.  Goniery  will  be  as  glad  as  I  am  to 
please  you,  for  he  always  said  you  were  one  of  the  most  sen- 
sible girls  in  the  neighborhood.  Good-morning,  my  good 
girl;"  saying  which,  and  taking  her  boy  in  her  arms,  she 
walked  into  the  house. 

Kitty,  left  alone  with  Prudence,  did  not  attempt  to  repress 
or  conceal  her  joy,  but  giggled  and  laughed  and  shook  and 
hopped  about  like  a  child  with  a  new  rattle;  and  soon,  bid- 
ding her  friend  good-morning,  she  ran  down  the  hill  from 
the  Pivot,  as  light  as  a  fawn,  to  her  own  home,  to  tell  her 
father  and  mother  the  good  news.  A  good  girl  was  Kitty 
Floyd,  —  an  affectionate,  dutiful  daughter.  She  knew  how 
to  make  a  pudding  or  roast  a  turkey,  and  do  all  those  thou- 
sand and  one  things  that  tend  so  much  to  make  home  agree- 
able. Fortunate  Joel  Slocum!  —  when  you  marry  her,  you 
take  a  bond  of  fate ;  for  yours  shall  ever  be  a  house  of  com- 
fort and  domestic  happiness.  I  envy  you,  crabbed  old  cynic 
that  I  am,  with  only  my  cat  and  dog  for  companions. 


"  O  God !  the  thought  forgive,  — 
If  'twere  not  for  my  cat  and  dog, 
I  thiuk  I  could  not  live." 


12 


134  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

The  glad  tidings  that  Kitty  bore  home  from  the  Pivot 
soon  spread  through  the  town,  and  before  night  it  was  in 
everybody's  mouth  that  the  next  Thanksgiving  ball  was  to 
be  the  grandest  ever  given  in  Montgomery;  that  Diller  had 
enlarged  his  hall,  at  an  expense  of  a  hundred  dollars,  for  the 
occasion;  that  extra  music  was  to  come  from  Tivernet;  and 
finally,  and  most  important  of  all,  Gomery  of  Montgomery 
and  his  wife  were  to  attend  as  in  days  of  yore.  As  the  story 
rolled,  it  increased  like  a  snowball ;  for  various  other  married 
folks,  who  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  attending  balls  of 
late  years,  said,  on  hearing  the  news,  that  they  had,  some 
time  before,  made  up  their  minds  to  attend  this  one ;  to 
shake  a  foot  just  to  encourage  Diller  for  going  to  the  expense 
of  enlarging  his  hall. 

The  next  day  the  newspapers  brought  the  governor's  proc- 
lamation for  Thanksgiving  Day.  It  was  later  in  the  season 
than  usual,  and  the  people  would  have  more  than  a  month 
to  prepare  for  the  grand  affair  of  the  season.  Little  Diller 
was  in  his  element,  and  so  busy  that  he  had  time  to  do 
nothing.  Not  a  guest  came  to  his  house  but  he  told  him  of 
the  expense  he  had  been  at  to  enlarge  the  hall  of  the  Eagle. 
He  always  called  his  house  the  Eagle,  for  the  reason  that 
there  was  a  picture  of  this  bird  of  freedom,  that  wars  on  all 
other  birds,  painted  on  the  sign  at  the  corner  of  the  house. 
But  the  other  people  of  the  village  always  called  it  the  Tav- 
ern. Then  he  would  add  that  Gomery  of  Montgomery 
would  attend ;  but  if,  unfortunately,  the  guest  had  never 
heard  of  that  distinguished  character,  —  as  was  often  the 
case,  —  and  asked  who  and  what  he  was,  then  Diller  had 
such  a  contempt  for  him,  that  he  would  waste  no  more  words, 
but  would  stop  his  clatter,  and  attend  to  his  business.  If, 
however,  the  traveller  affected  to  know  all  about  him,  then 
the  delighted  host  would  regale  him  with  a  long  account 
of  the  Gomery  history,  and  tell  of  the  great  and  rich  relatives 
the  family  had  in  the  great  cities  of  the  country;  always 
adding  that  Mrs.  Gomery  might  have  had  the  richest  heir  of 
his  day  in  all  New  England,  but  she  preferred  Gomery 
of  Montgomery,  which,  in  his  opinion,  showed  she  was  a 
woman  of  good  sense. 

But,  in  a  village  like  Montgomery,  no  man,  no  family,  could 
be  universally  popular.  The  very  eminence  and  influence  of 
the  Gomery  Family  made  them  many  enemies,  —  not  open 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  135 

and  avowed  enemies,  but  envious  carpers,  that  would  have 
been  rejoiced  to  see  them  humbled  and  dethroned.  And 
neither  Gomery  nor  his  wife  courted  popularity.  They  had 
for  their  intimates  and  particular  friends  such  as  pleased  them  ; 
and  several  of  the  poorer  sort  of  women  were  invited  to  tea- 
drinkings  at  the  Pivot,  to  which  others  of  more  pretensions 
and  property  were  never  bidden.  The  squire's  most  intimate 
associate  was  an  old  pensioner,  named  Tench  Wales,  who 
eked  out  his  living  by  cobbling  shoes.  He  and  his  wife  were 
a  queer  couple;  for  he  was  the  best-informed  man  in  the 
county,  not  excepting  even  the  lawyer ;  and  the  old  woman 
was  a  living  history  of  New  England,  and  could  tell  of 
every  important  incident  that  ever  happened,  from  the  land- 
ing of  the  Pilgrims  to  the  great  case  of  Craig  and  Cook ; 
having  a  memory  for  names  and  dates,  that,  at  an  earlier 
period,  would  have  proved  her  a  witch,  without  contradic- 
tion or  doubt.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  this  worthy  couple,  each 
with  big  horn  spectacles  on  nose,  trudging  up  the  hill  of  an 
afternoon  to  the  Pivot,  from  which  they  would  return  late 
in  the  evening  in  the  squire's  best  carriage,  driven  by  that 
reliable  and  sober  Jehu,  Ethan  Hurd.  The  variety  of  sub- 
jects discussed,  and  the  history  narrated,  could  it  be  given  in 
this  book,  would  form  a  much  better  chapter  than  any  I  have 
written ;  but  it  would  not  be  pertinent  to  my  story,  and  I 
will  not  attempt  it.  The  children  were  all  more  anxious  to 
sit  up  late  when  Wales  and  his  wife  were  visitors ;  for  they 
said  the  talk  was  more  interesting  than  on  other  occasions. 

Joe  Pumpagin  was  the  particular  friend  of  Wales  and  his 
wife  ;  and,  whenever  Diller  began  to  hint  that  he  would  like 
a  sight  of  his  money,  Joe  would  tell  him  he  would  not  pat- 
ronize his  house  any  longer,  and  go  and  quarter  himself  on 
Wales,  where  he  was  always  welcome,  and  never  dunned  for 
pay.  •   • 

There  was  nothing  in  the  manner  or  disposition  of  Free- 
born Gomery  or  his  wife  to  repel  intimacy  of  the  most 
cordial  kind  with  their  neighbors ;  and,  when  they  were 
first  married,  they  sought  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  all, 
and  put  them  on  a  level  of  familiarity  and  friendship^ :  but 
in  time,  when  they  came  to  know  people  better,  they  found 
some  that  they  liked  better  than  others ;  and  they  chose  for 
intimates  those  they  could  sympathize  with,  paying  small 
regard  to  their  worldly  circumstances.    Nor  did  political  or  re- 


136  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

ligious  differences  ever  interfere  with  their  preferences.  They 
found  some  of  every  party  and  sect  in  town,  for  whom  they 
had  a  particular  liking ;  and  so  it  happened  that  the  envy  or 
jealousy  that  some  people  felt  towards  them  could  never 
assume  a  partisan  or  sectarian  form.  It  was  necessarily  en- 
tirely of  a  social  character;  and,  notwithstanding  the  great 
liberality  of  the  two,  it  must  be  admitted,  that,  on  more  than 
one  occasion,  the  high  spirit  of  the  Mackenzies  broke  forth 
in  a  manner  that  showed  a  conscious  sense  of  superiority  on 
the  part  of  the  woman,  little  calculated  to  flatter  the  vanity 
or  win  the  love  of  those  who  had  excited  it. 

In  matters  of  general  interest,  in  affairs  of  politics  or  re- 
ligion, she  was  always  calm,  complacent,  and  yielding;  but, 
in  regard  to  her  husband  or  children,  she  was  as  sensitive  as 
a  lioness  with  her  young.  She  was  in  many  respects  dif- 
ferent from  and  in  some  the  antipodes  of  him;  but  she  loved 
him  most  strongly  for  those  points  of  character  that  con- 
trasted most  clearly  with  her  own.  In  appearance,  even, 
they  exhibited  a  strong  contrast.  Though  both  were  large 
of  frame,  and  even  stately  in  appearance,  there  seemed  a  con- 
trast between  them  in  every  other  respect.  He  was  a  man 
of  strong  rough  features,  with  a  firm  iron  frame  ;  and,  though 
as  far  as  possible  from  a  plain  man,  his  features  were  such, 
that  they  might  be  best  described  by  the  expression,  "  whole- 
some ugly."  His  nose  was  prominent  and  slightly  aquiline, 
his  cheek-bonies  high,  his  complexion  ruddy,  his  hands  and 
feet  large ;  and  yet  there  was  such  a  lively  expression  to  the 
eye,  and  such  a  general  beaming  of  good  nature  about  his 
entire  appearance,  that  it  was  encouraging  to  a  shy,  and  sooth- 
ing to  an  alarmed  man  to  look  at  him.  His  wife,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  features  regular  and  symmetrical,  a  complexion 
exceedingly  fair,  and  large  blue  eyes  that  seemed  as  inex- 
haustible and  comprehensive  in  their  effulgence  as  the  blue 
vault  of  heaven.  He  was  a  man  of  a  thoughtful,  intellectual 
cast  of  mind,  an  omnivorous  reader,  fond  of  a  sermonizing 
kind  of  talk,  and  without  ambition.  In  every  thing  he  acted 
as  he  did,  not  from  calculation  or  chance,  but  because  he 
could  not  help  it.  A  sense  of  duty  impelled  him  in  every 
thing;  and  it  would  have  been  as  easy  for  him  to  have  com- 
mitted burglary  or  highway  robbery  as  to  have  overcharged 
a  client,  or  taken  advantage  in  a  bargain.  There  were  in 
his  mind,  for  himself,  no  degrees  of  crime,  no  shades  of  sin. 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  137 

If  an  act  were  right,  he  performed  it ;  if  it  were  wrong,  he 
could  not  do  it.  It  was  impossible ;  and  to  this  man,  that 
never  realized  that  he  had  a  conscience,  there  could  be  no 
temptation. 

Such  were  the  natures  and  dispositions  of  Gomery  of 
Montgomery  and  his  wife ;  and,  being  so,  it  needed  no  disci- 
ple of  Gall  or  Combe  to  foretell  that  the  children  would  be 
of  uncommon  promise.  There  existed  that  contrast  between 
the  parents  that  physiologists  insist  upon  as  most  likely  to 
produce  the  highest  order  of  mind  and  body  in  the  pro- 
geny. He  was  the  more  intellectual  and  robust ;  she  the 
more  beautiful  and  sensitive.  He  was  the  more  reflec- 
tive; she  the  more  energetic.  He  the  more  humorous; 
she  the  more  sprightly.  He  fonder  of  books  and  politics; 
she  of  admiration  and  deference.  He  acted  only  because 
he  must;  she  for  an  object  and  purpose.  He  had  more 
strength  of  character;  she  more  ambition.  The  children 
inherited  the  better  qualities  of  both  their  parents,  taking 
after  their  mother  in  personal  appearance  and  energy,  and 
after  their  father  in  mental  scope,  and  facility  of  learning ; 
but,  though  all  showed  the  effects  of  such  a  fortunate  mix- 
ture of  opposites,  the  boys  all  inclined  more  to  the  father, 
while  the  girls  more  resembled  the  mother,  having  all  her 
symmetry  of  feature,  at  the  same  time  that  they  inherited 
the  intellectual  tastes  of  their  father. 

An  incident  is  related,  and  was  long  current  in  the  village 
(having  occurred  when  her  first-born  was  only  six  months 
old),  as  showing  not  only  how  early  in  their  career  she  fore- 
saw the  future  eminence  of  her  offspring,  but  how  it  was 
she  raised  a  spirit  of  opposition  and  envy  to  her  among  those 
whom  she  wished  to  conciliate.  Her  early  faith  in  the  supe- 
riority of  her  children,  expressed  even  before  they  could 
speak,  or,  to  other  minds  than  hers,  give  any  evidence  of 
their  capacity,  caused  it  to  be  said  by  some  of  the  older 
heads,  spitefully  of  course,  that  she  had  only  married  Gom- 
ery of  Montgomery  for  the  sake  of  the  cross  in  the  stock, 
when  it  was  well  known  she  might  have  had  the  only  son 
of  the  richest  man  in  Boston,  whose  yearly  income  was  more 
than  Gomery  of  Montgomery  was  ever  worth,  or  ever  likely 
to  be.     The  incident  happened  at  a  tea-drinking. 

Mrs.  Gomery  was  then  young,  and  for  the  first  time  a 
mother,  and  as  beautiful  a  woman  as  ever  graced  such  a  fes- 
12* 


138  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

tive  occasion.  As  was  the  custom  among  those  primitive 
people,  poor  unfortunates  that  did  not  know  any  better,  she 
had  taken  to  the  social  gathering  this  first-fruit  of  her  union 
with  Gomery  of  Montgomery.  Then,  as  at  a  later  period, 
the  country  in  that  vicinity  was  exceedingly  healthy  and 
prolific;  and  it  happened  that  the  arrival  of  young 
strangers  was  so  common  an  occurrence,  that  a  tea-party 
at  which  several  of  them  were  not  present  with  their  mam- 
mas was  never  known.  On  this  occasion,  there  happened 
to  be  two  others,  besides  Mrs.  Gomery,  with  their  infantile 
treasures,  and  both  about  the  age  of  little  Juliet ;  and,  as  it 
was  the  first  time  the  three  had  been  brought  together,  the 
partial,  fond,  foolish  mothers  began  comparing  features.  'Tis 
said  that  ugly  babies  make  the  handsomest  grown  people. 
I  do  not  believe  it;  yet  it  is  certain,  that,  at  that  period,  Juliet 
Gomery  was  not  half  so  pretty  as  Eliza  Thurston.  Her 
cheeks  were  full  and  plump,  her  nose  undefined,  her  forehead 
high  and  broad,  her  chin  and  mouth  irregular  and  uncomely. 
To  offset  these,  she  had  blue  eyes  and  a  faultless  complexion. 
The  other  baby,  Eliza  Thurston,  had  more  regular  features, 
and  its  mother  thought  it  much  the  prettier.  Indeed,  it  was 
so  at  that  time ;  but  when  the  mother  began  to  boast,  and 
to  say  to  a  companion  who  sat  near,  both  supposing  that 
they  were  overheard,  "  See !  isn't  it  a  beauty  ?  see  what  pretty 
cheeks !  what  a  sweet  mouth ! "  and  looking  from  her  own 
child  to  young  Juliet  Gomery,  then  about  three  months  old, 
and  lying  smiling,  and  biting  its  fists,  in  a  large  arm-chair, 
"Isn't  it,"  she. continued,  "a  great  deal  prettier  than  that?" 
Mrs.  Gomery  remained  silent  over  her  needle-work,  though 
the  fires  of  a  thousand  volcanoes  were  agitating  her  bosom. 
But  the  other  did  not  stop  here ;  and,  all  unsuspicious  of 
being  overheard,  she  went  on,  "Yes:  it  is  a  thousand  times 
prettier  than  that  ugly  little  thing." 

Human  nature  could  not  stand  this.  Others  besides  Mrs. 
Gomery  had  overheard  the  doting,  foolish  words,  and  had 
foreseen  that  the  tempest  must  break  forth.  "Woman!" 
said  she,  "  do  you  dare  to  compare  your  baby  with  mine  ? 
Simon  Thurston's  child  with  Gomery  of  Mongomery's  ? 
You  are  a  silly  little  fool !  The  baby  of  such  a  light-head- 
ed goose  as  you  and  your  noodle  of  a  husband  to  be  com- 
pared with  that  of  a  man  like  my  husband,  and  a  woman  like 
me !     My  daughter  shall  be  the  belle  of  the  country  while 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  139 

yours  is  angling  for  a  wood-sawyer's  clerk.  She  shall  be  the 
wife  of  a  senator  while  yours  will  be  glad  to  get  a  cant- 
ing parson  on  a  salary  of  fifty  dollars  a  year,  and  half  the 
fish  he  can  catch  out  of  the  river." 

Mrs.  Thurston,  poor,  weak  thing,  dropped  her  eyes  at  this 
cruel  speech ;  and  the  tears  began  to  fall  as  she  clasped  her 
child  more  closely  to  her  bosom.  It  was  a  most  ungener- 
ous and  unmerited  rebuke,  and  far  severer  than  her  own 
idle,  vain  words  deserved  ;  but  she  had  no  spirit  to  retort 
on  so  superior  a  person  as  the  angry  woman  that  stood  be- 
fore her,  her  eyes  flashing  fire,  and  her  cheeks,  a  little  before 
so  pale,  now  flushed  and  excited.  The  barbed  arrow  had 
sped,  and  it  could  not  be  withdrawn  without  still  more  pain. 
Poor  Mrs.  Thurston  stole  from  the  room  immediately,  carry- 
ing her  child  with  her;  and,  though  others  followed  her,  she 
could  not  be  consoled,  but,  sobbing  and  heart-broken,  left  for 
her  own  home.  There  was  no  more  pleasure  nor  gossip  that 
night.  The  tea  had  been  drunk  before  this  sad  climax,  and 
the  party  soon  broke  up. 

Mrs.  Gomery  repented  of  this  cruel  outbreak  a  thousand 
times.  The  memory  of  it  was  a  drop  of  bitter  in  many  a 
cup  of  sweet ;  and  long  years  after,  when  it  appeared  that 
her  words  of  anger  were  likely  to  be  literally  fulfilled,  and 
her  daughter  came  to  be  recognized  as  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  brilliant  women  of  her  day  and  the  wife  of  one  of 
the  leading  men  of  the  nation,  and  Eliza  Thurston  became 
the  wife  of  a  poor  preacher  and  the  mother  of  several  chil- 
dren, and  was  so  poor  that  she  was  obliged  to  labor  like  a 
very  drudge  for  their  support,  she  remembered  with  bitter 
remorse  her  cruel  words ;  and,  though  she  could  never  hear 
the  parson  preach,  she  prevailed  on  her  husband  to  contrib- 
ute more  to  his  support  than  any  other  of  his  parishioners. 
Not  to  show  partiality,  however,  he  gave  the  same  amount  to 
another  preacher,  for  whose  preaching  both  he  and  his  wife 
had  the  same  respect.  This  was  Elder  Millson,  under  whose 
teachings  for  many  years  sat  Brother  Craig  and  Brother 
Cook,  —  all  of  whom,  while  lamenting  the  spiritual  darkness 
in  which  the  "  square "  was  groping,  admitted  that,  though 
his  faith  was  weak  and  his  creed  lax,  his  works  were  emi- 
nently evangelical. 

The  tradition  of  this  scene  at  the  tea-party  was  preserved 
with  awe  and  envy,  as  a  sort  of  moral  pickle,  by  sundry  peo- 


140  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  .' 

pie,  who  saw,  as  year  after  year  passed  by,  that  the  lawyer 
waxed  rich,  independent,  and  influential ;  and  that,  as  each 
child  was  born  to  his  house,  it  early  in  life  gave  signs  of 
superior  sprightliness  and  intelligence.  As  children,  they 
had  more  tact,  more  self-possession  and  innate  refinement, 
than  other  children  of  the  village.  They  were  not  more 
amiable  or  more  quiet.  On  the  contrary,  the  girls  were  the 
greatest  romps,  and  the  boys  the  most  vicious,  mischievous, 
troublesome  blades,  in  town :  and  for  mad  pranks,  harum- 
scarum  adventures,  they  always  took  the  lead ;  and  nothing  of 
a  novel  or  frolicsome  character  was  ever  attempted  unless 
approved  by  at  least  one  of  the  young  Gomerys.  They  held 
their  position  and  influence  without  asserting  it ;  having  in- 
herited that  fortunate  gift,  —  the  natural  tact  of  leading  while 
seeming  to  follow.  These  were  general  characteristics ;  and 
yet  each  differed  much  from  the  others,  having  peculiar  traits 
and  idiosyncrasies,  and  distinctive  elements  of  originality. 

With  such  a  family,  it  may  well  be  supposed  that  Mrs. 
Gomery  found  abundant  exercise  for  her  busy  and  ambitious 
mind.  The  four  oldest  had  all  made  their  appearance  on  the 
stage  during  the  first  ten  years  of  her  married  life ;  and  an 
interval  of  nearly  ten  years  succeeded  before  the  fifth  came 
to  claim  his  place  and  assert  his  rights. 

When  he  did  appear,  he  was  most  heartily  welcome,  more 
especially  to  the  old  squire.  In  the  infantile  years  of  the 
older  ones,  he  had  been  immersed  in  business,  and  had  not 
given  so  much  time  or  personal  care  to  them  as  he  had 
wished ;  but  now  his  business  had  nearly  all  left  him,  and  his 
time  was  at  his  disposal  for  his  family,  his  books,  or  his  farm, 
as  he  might  feel  inclined.  The  mother,  too,  —  though  we 
have  seen  she  fully  appreciated  the  superior  qualities  of  her 
first  children,  —  thought  she  would  rear  this  one  to  be  the 
crowning  glory  of  her  house.  Her  experience  with  the  oth- 
ers had  given  her  better  ideas,  as  she  believed,  in  regard  to 
children,  and  the  way  to  bring  them  up  ;  and,  as  she  fancied 
she  had  made  some  mistakes  with  the  others,  she  would  for 
the  future  avoid  all  such  errors  in  her  better  knowledge  of 
maternity. 

Thus  it  is  that  people  in  their  imaginary  knowledge,  but 
real  ignorance,  rely  more  on  education  than  instinct,  —  as 
though  any  amount  of  experience  or  education  could  serve 
so  well  as   the  native   promptings  of  the   young  mother's 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  141 

heart !  Why,  these  were  implanted  by  the  same  God  who 
gave  the  young  child  to  meet  its  early  wants ;  and  who  shall 
say  he  has  not  done  his  work  well,  and  seek  to  supersede  it 
by  the  fallible,  erring  rules  of  reason  ?  The  grim  bachelor 
or  morose  old  maid,  whose  hearts  have  become  dry,  cheerless, 
and  unsyrnpathizing,  when  they  see  the  fond,  foolish  mother 
giving  way  to  her  young  darling,  humoring  its  every  whim 
and  caprice,  and  seeing  signs  and  wonders  in  things  that  to 
other  eyes  have  no  meaning,  may  exclaim,  "Ah,  she  will 
spoil  the  child !  It  is  getting  the  upper  hands  of  her  now, 
and  it  will  be  ruined.  Children  should  be  taught  to  obey. 
Their  stubborn  wills  must  be  taught  obedience  in  youth.  I 
was  brought  up  to  obey."  Doubtless  you  were  ;  and  a  pretty 
specimen  you  are.  What  impious  fools! — as  if  God,  who 
gave  the  young  child  life,  did  not  give  its  natural  protector 
instinctive  knowledge  of  its  first  year's  existence.  See  the 
child  that  from  its  infancy  is  subjected  to  the  arbitrary,  ex- 
acting will  of  a  parent  devoid  of  this  quality !  See  its  pre- 
cocious propriety,  its  quiet  and  subdued  deportment !  Hear 
its  parrot-like  answers,  and  observe  its  passive  obedience! 
Then  weep  with  me  over  a  crushed  flower,  that  must  grow 
up  dwarfed  and  stunted,  if  not  deformed ;  and  rejoice  that 
this  is  an  exception,  and  that  the  rule  is  for  the  first  instruct- 
or—  that  which  Nature  has  provided  —  to  encourage  and 
humor  the  child  in  its  whims  and  caprices,  to  visit  its  trivial 
offences  with  indulgent  neglect,  and  see  promise  and  charac- 
ter in  its  waywardness  and  rudeness.  You,  who,  like  Mr. 
Bunsby,  are  "  older  than  you  once  were,"  and  who  look  back 
to  the  time  when  some  particular  pet  and  joy  of  the  mother 
was  the  most  troublesome  and  mischievous  of  urchins ;  who 
was  never  so  happy  as  when  engaged  in  some  prank ;  who 
would  put  shoes  on  Grimalkin,  or  his  grandmother's  specta- 
cle on  his  dog,  —  now  find  him  a  grown  man,  and  that  in  life's 
race  he  has  left  all  the  good  little  boys  behind  him ;  and  you 
wonder  at  the  change.  Change !  —  there  has  been  no  change. 
His  early  pranks,  that  you  regarded  as  annoying  and  vicious, 
were  but  the  effervescence  of  his  spirit  and  genius.  He  had 
not  learned  then  any  other  way  of  keeping  his  active  mind 
at  work.  But,  when  he  grew  older,  that  same  activity  and 
restlessness  that  made  him  his  teacher's  torment  pushed 
him  into  enterprises  of  moment,  and  rendered  him  a  man  of 
marked  influence,  to  whom  others  look  as  a  leading,  vigor- 


142  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  .* 

ous,  self-reliant  character.  O  ye  child- whippers !  could  ye 
have  had  your  way  with  him,  ye  would  never  have  spared 
the  rod,  and  spoiled  the  child.  Oh,  no  !  ye  would  have  taught 
him  his  place  in  his  childhood ;  ye  would  have  curbed  his 
wayward  courses,  and  taught  him  obedience  and  respect ;  and 
to-day  would  have  the  reward  of  your  cruel  care  in  seeing 
him  a  broken-spirited  imbecile,  yielding  a  passive  assent  to 
minds  that  have  never  been  subjected  to  the  Procrustean 
rules. 

This  valued  gift,  this  inborn  tact  of  meeting  and  yield- 
ing to  the  caprices  and  foibles  of  the  young,  is  but  of  tem- 
porary duration.  It  exists  in  the  natural  course  of  things 
when  needed,  and  then  is  gone.  The  hen  picks  and  scratches 
for  her  whole  brood  of  chickens  so  long  as  they  are  too 
young  to  look  out  for  themselves.  But  the  instinct  to  do  it 
endures  but  for  a  few  weeks,  and  she  has  no  more  care  for 
them.  So  with  the  young  mother:  that  partial  fondness, 
that  natural  conformity  to  the  wants  of  the  offspring,  is  only 
for  her  own  children,  and  comes  to  her  with  them,  and  comes 
not  back  when  other  children  appeal  to  her  care.  The  grand- 
mother may  fancy  she  can  instruct  the  daughter  how  to  rear 
and  manage  the  grandchild.  But,  with  all  her  experience, 
she  is  to  her  in  this  matter  like  another  person;  and  she 
thinks  it  strange  and  ungrateful,  perhaps,  that  her  counsels 
are  not  regarded.  But  the  inconsiderate  woman  forgets,  or 
perhaps  never  knew,  that  it  was  instinct,  and  not  knowledge, 
that  enabled  her  to  bring  through  successfully  her  numerous 
progeny,  and  that  the  instinct  no  longer  remains  to  her,  but 
exists,  in  all  its  unerring  force,  with  the  daughter.  With  her, 
it  is  experience  and  reason ;  and  though  we  must  trust  to 
these  when  the  spark  of  instinct  has  been  quenched  in  the 
dark  waters,  yet  they  are  not  unerring. 

"  One  must  be  right ;  the  other  may  be  wrong." 

Ah,  happy  the  child  whose  tottering  steps  are  led  by  the 
hand  that  knows  only  the  moving  love  to  guide  it  that  is  in 
the  mother's  heart !  Verily  Shakspeare  uttered  a  great  truth 
through  the  mouth  of  his  sensual  philosopher,  when  he  said, 
"  Instinct  is  a  great  matter." 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  143 


CHAPTER    XII. 


"  But  wot  you  what  ?  the  youth  was  going 
To  make  an  end  of  all  his  wooing ; 

The  parson  for  him  staid. 
Yet,  by  his  leave,  for  all  his  haste 
He  did  not  so  much  wish  all  past 

Perchance  as  did  the  maid. 

The  maid,  —  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale,— 
For  such  a  maid  no  Whitsun-ale 

Could  ever  yet  produce,  — 
No  grape  that's  kindly  ripe  could  be 
So  round,  so  plump,  so  soft  as  she, 

Nor  half  so  full  of  juice."  —  Suckling. 


The  great  ball  that  was  to  come  off  on  Thanksgiving 
evening  was  now  the  principal  subject  of  conversation  in 
Montgomery  Village.  It  was  understood  that  it  was  to  be  a 
very  grand  affair,  and  to  surpass  in  splendor  any  ball  ever 
held  in  that  or  any  of  the  neighboring  towns.  There  was  to 
be  extra  music  ;  and  several  couples  were  coming  from  Tiv- 
ernet,  Bridgeville,  and  other  neighboring  places.  Little  Dil- 
ler  was  so  busy,  that  he  could  do  nothing.  The  supper,  so  he 
told  everybody,  was  to  be  of  unsurpassed  excellence,  and 
got  up  in  such  style  as  would  do  credit  to  the  Boston  City 
Tavern  ;  and  he  buzzed  about,  stopping  to  tell  everybody  he 
met  that  this  and  that  couple  were  coming,  and  that  some 
other  great  attraction  would  be  presented.  He  even  stopped 
the  mail-coach,  as  it  was  just  starting  from  the  post-office,  to 
tell  the  passengers  that  Thanksgivin'  was  to  be  a  great  day  in 
that  village,  and  to  say  that  he  was  the  proprietor  of  the  Engle 
Tavern,  and  had  built  an  addition  to  his  hall,  that  cost  a  hun- 
dred dollars,  to  be  used  for  the  first  time  for  the  Thanksgivin' 
ball ;  and  that  Square  Gomery  was  goin'  to  attend,  and  all 
the  other  big-bugs,  as  he  forcibly  expressed  it,  in  that  part 
of  the  country.  Neither  Packard,  who  kept  the  Tivernet 
Tavern,  nor  Tozer,  who  kept  that  at  Bridgeville,  could  begin 
to  get  up  a  ball  to  compare  with  those  at  the  Eagle.    He 


144  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

had  the  best  hall,  and  his  wife  knew  better  how  to  get  up  a 
supper  than  anybody  else's  wife ;  for  she  was  a  Morton,  and 
they  all  knew  the  Mortons  were  famous  good  livers.  The 
coach  moved  away,  leaving  the  little  host  of  the  Eagle  still 
talking;  the  passengers,  neither  of  whom  ever  was  in  the 
place  before  or  ever  expected  to  be  again,  being  dumfound- 
ed  with  astonishment,  and  not  knowing  what  to  make  of 
the  fund  of  useful  information  he  had  gratuitously  bestowed 
upon  them. 

When  it  was  known  that  the  ball  was  to  be  so  magnificent 
an  affair,  not  only  did  many  people  who  had  given  up  balls 
and  dancing  years  before  determine  to  go  to  it,  but  many 
young  married  people,  whose  practices  of  late  years  were 
such  that  sweet  Kitty  Floyd  thought  they  ought  to  be 
stopped,  discovered  that  they  could  attend,  even  if  their 
babies  were  young.  There  was  a  ball-furor,  and  they  would 
not  miss  it :  that  was  flat.  They  would  go,  and  take  nurses 
or  hired  girls  with  them  to  look  after  the  young  heirs  while 
the  mothers  were  tripping  it  over  the  floor  to  the  tune  of  the 
"  Chorus  Jig "  or  "  Fisher's  Hornpipe."  As  yet,  even  qua- 
drilles were  unknown  to  those  simple  rustics ;  and  the  waltz 
and  polka  had  never  come  among  them  with  their  graceful 
movements  and  questionable  influences.  Every  thing  was 
old-fashioned,  notwithstanding  that,  in  the  language  of  little 
Diller,  all  the  "  big-bugs  "  of  the  county  were  to  be  present. 

This  ball  was  a  most  remarkable  affair,  —  far  more  so 
than  the  most  enthusiastic  had  anticipated,  —  and  was  long 
remembered  in  the  annals  of  the  town  as  the  "great  ball." 
The  day  was  fine,  and  in  the  first  week  in  December :  fortu- 
nately, the  snow  had  fallen  early  that  year,  and  at  this  time 
lay  evenly  distributed  six  inches  deep  upon  the  ground,  and 
had  been  trodden  just  enough  to  render  the  sleighing  perfect. 
There  was  fine  skating,  too,  on  the  ponds ;  though  as  yet  the 
running  streams  were  unbridged  by  the  ice.  The  snow  had 
fallen  before  even  the  ponds  had  been  frozen  over:  and,  when 
the  cold  snap  came  on  directly  afterwards,  it  covered  them 
with  ice  both  glare  and  strong;  so  that,  for  this  day  of  joy 
and  thankfulness,  there  were  good  skating  and  good  sleigh- 
ing. This  combination  of  blessings  was  well  appreciated  and 
improved  by  the  younger  folks,  and  was  very  grateful  to 
those  who  did  not  share  in  the  pleasure  they  afford.  It  took 
away  the  boys  with  their  skates  and  hand-sleds  to  skate  and 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  145 

slide,  while  it  relieved  their  mothers  of  their  troublesome 
presence  at  the  time  they  were  preparing  the  Thanksgiving- 
dinner,  or  getting  ready  for  the  great  affair  of  the  evening. 

Kitty  Floyd,  sweet  Kitty !  was  married  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  The  ceremony  was  performed  by  Squire  Gom- 
ery,  who,  at  Kitty's  special  request,  was  called  in  for  that 
service,  and  for  which  service  the  bridegroom  paid  him  a  dol- 
lar and  a  quarter  in  silver.  There  was  no  wedding-party, 
and  no  one  present  to  witness  the  ceremony  except  the  father 
and  mother  of  Kitty,  and  her  two  young  brothers,  who,  as 
soon  as  it  was  over,  hied  away  to  the  pond  with  their  skates, 
to  be  away  till  the  dinner  should  be  ready  at  two  o'clock. 

The  lawyer  took  his  departure  soon  after  the  ceremony, 
leaving  Kitty  and  Joel  sitting  side  by  side  in  the  parlor,  both 
looking  confused,  and  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  Kitty  looked 
very  happy,  and  so  did  Joel ;  though  his  diffidence  on  this 
occasion  made  his  natural  awkwardness  more  conspicuous 
than  usual.  But,  though  bashful  and  awkward,  he  was  a 
man  of  more  than  average  intelligence,  honest,  industrious, 
and  of  an  amiable  and  humorous  disposition.  Had  not  Kitty 
been  very  much  in  love,  she  would  have  been  mortified  at 
some  of  his  awkward  ways.  His  appearance  would  certainly 
have  tried  eyes  that  were  not  loving;  for  were  he,  as  he 
stood  up  to  be  married,  to  walk  upon  the  stage  of  one  of  our 
modern  theatres,  he  would  certainly  be  pronounced  a  carica- 
ture of  the  Yankee.  His  clothes  were  bran-new.  His  own 
sisters  had  spun  the  warp  and  woof  of  which  they  were 
made,  and  the  cloth  had  been  colored  and  dressed  at  the 
Montgomery  clothing-mill.  They  had  been  cut  and  made 
by  a  matured  woman  of  forty-five,  —  for  as  yet  Montgomery 
did  not  boast  a  man  tailor,  —  who  did  the  fashionable  cutting 
for  the  gay  bucks  not  only  of  that  village,  but  for  those  of 
Tivernet  and  Bridgeville.  This  worthy  woman  always  had 
several  buxom  country  girls  in  her  employ,  and  learning  her 
trade.  But  hers  was  the  village  tailor's-shop  ;  and  over  her 
door  the  traveller  might  read,  "  Polly  WellingTON,  Fashion- 
able Taylor."  With  such  a  name,  how  could  she  fail  to  con- 
quer on  her  own  chosen  field  of  glory?  When  asked,  by  her 
neighbors  more  ignorant  than  she,  if  she  were  any  connec- 
tion of  the  great  duke,  she  always  replied,  "  Distant ; "  and 
when  the  schoolmaster,  for  whom  she  had  made  a  sad  misfit 
in  the  very  clothes  destined  to  be  worn  for  the  first  time  at 

13 


146  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

the  great  ball,  told  her  in  his  wrath  that  the  great  duke 
was  not  named  Wellington  at  all,  that  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton was  only  his  title,  and  that  his  real  name  was  Wellesley, 
she  replied  that  she  was  a  Wesleyan  too,  and  her  father  and 
mother  before  her,  and  they  always  went  to  that  church. 
But  this  is  a  digression  into  which  my  perverse  pen  has  led 
me  against  my  will.  But  how  can  I  control  a  weapon  so 
much  mightier  than  the  sword  ?  —  I, "  that  never  set  a  squad- 
ron in  the  field,  nor  the  division  of  a  battle  knew." 

The  boots  of  our  bridegroom  were,  as  he  imagined,  the 
strong  point  of  his  dress ;  for  they  were  spick-span  new,  and 
made  of  fine  calf-skin,  neatly  polished  with  neat's-foot  oil : 
and  so  smart  did  they  look,  that  the  happy  man  could  not 
refrain  from  looking  at  them,  but  would  turn  his  delighted 
eyes  from  the  blushing  bride  to  the  new  boots,  and  from  the 
new  boots  to  the  blushing  bride,  with  a  divided  if  not  a 
diminished  admiration. 

The  ceremony  was  performed  in  brief  terms,  the  lawyer 
discharging  his  duty  with  dignity  and  solemnity.  The 
bride's  mother  turned  away,  and  shed  tears,  —  what  faithful 
mother  ever  failed  to  do  that  ?  —  the  father  looked  on  immo- 
bile and  stern,  save  only  a  slight  quivering  of  the  lip,  that 
showed  how  deeply  his  affections  were  stirred.  The  boys  — 
undignified  brats  —  looked  on  agape  till  the  ceremony  was 
over,  and  then  began  to  laugh ;  at  which  Kitty  looked  at 
them  reproachfully,  when  they  left  the  room,  and  hied  away 
with  their  skates  to  the  pond.  The  magistrate  departed  for 
home,  having  left  the  dollar  and  a  quarter  in  the  palm  of 
Kitty  when  he  shook  hands  with  her  at  parting ;  and  soon 
after  the  newly  married  couple  set  forth  for  church,  from 
which  they  returned  in  just  one  hour  and  twenty  minutes  by 
the  clock  that  ticked  loudly  in  the  keeping-room. 

At  two  o'clock  all  were  ready  to  begin  that  important 
work,  the  eating  of  the  Thanksgiving-dinner.  The  boys, 
you  may  be  sure,  were  prompt  to  return  in  time  for  this,  the 
family  feast  of  the  year ;  and,  at  sharp  two,  they  all  sat  down 
to  the  table.  At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  Mrs.  Floyd.  At 
her  right,  but  turned  the  corner,  sat  her  husband ;  and  at  her 
left,  and  opposite  to  him,  sat  Kitty.  By  all  rules  of  modern 
propriety,  Joel  should  have  sat  beside  the  bride  ;  but,  instead 
of  that,  he  was  placed  by  the  side,  and  at  the  right  hand,  of 
Farmer  Floyd.  The  elder  of  the  two  boys  sat  opposite  his 
mother ;  and  the  other  sat  beside  Kitty,  sweet  Kitty ! 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  147 

The  dinner  was  not  a  fashionable  dinner ;  or,  if  it  were 
fashionable,  it  was  very  old-fashioned.  There  was  neither 
soup  nor  fish,  and  the  nearest  approach  to  wine  was  a  large 
pitcher  of  hard  cider. 

But  the  dinner!  —  how  tempting  does  it  appear  to  me  now 
as  the  memory  of  it  comes  up  after  many  years!  There 
were  never  such  dinners  in  this  world,  except  on  the  tables 
of  our  mothers  and  grandmothers.  First,  there  was  the  tur- 
key, only  eight  months  from  the  shell,  and  yet  large  enough 
to  make  you  doubt  whether  it  was  the  old  gobbler,  or  one 
of  his  descendants.  His  appearance  on  the  table  had  a  look 
of  gratitude;  for  it  seemed  to  say  that  the  cooking  and 
basting  he  had  received  had  done  him  good.  Such  a  deli- 
cate, deep  brown  all  over  him !  You  could  see,  as  he  lay  in 
the  platter,  how,  before  the  kitchen-fire,  he  had  been  suspend- 
ed by  a  string,  and,  like  an  apostle  of  charity,  "  went  about 
doing  good ; "  how  that  the  unctuous  juices  of  his  body,  as 
they  struggled  through  the  pores  of  the  skin  before  the 
warming,  grateful  fire,  were  crisped  and  browned,  and  formed 
a  sort  of  crust  or  crackling ;  while  that  which  dripped  off  to 
the  gravy  dish  below  was  repeatedly  caught  up,  and  basted 
over  the  revolving,  absorbing,  and  satisfied  and  satisfying 
bird.  Then  how  gently  had  the  condiments  which  seasoned 
the  stuffing — composed  of  bread-crumbs,  pork-scraps,  and 
chopped  giblets — penetrated  through  the  texture  and  grain 
of  the  body !  Ah,  how  few  can  appreciate  this  description  ! 
How  few,  even  of  those  who  live  in  four-story,  stone-front 
houses,  or  in  first-class,  marble-faced  hotels,  have  any  such 
reminiscences  as  these !  Who,  in  these  days  of  cooking- 
stoves  and  ranges,  remembers  with  just  appreciation  the 
cooking  of  the  olden  time,  when  a  piece  of  turkey  like  that 
I  have  described  would  tickle  the  palate  for  hours  alter  it 
was  eaten ;  when  the  very  delicacy  and  relish  of  the  savory 
morsel  would  make  one  to  pause,  and  husband  the  grateful 
flavor,  and  keep  it  long  lingering  on  the  palate  ? 

Besides  the  turkey,  there  was  a  brace  of  fat  chickens  that 
had  been  roasted  in  the  old  tin-kitchen  with  the  same  care 
as  had  the  more  pretending  turkey  on  the  string  before  the 
fire.  For  vegetables,  there  was  that  great  rarity  of  modern 
times,  potatoes  boiled  to  a  dot,  and,  of  course,  mealy  and 
palatable ;  turnips  mashed  finely,  and  in  slices ;  and  boiled 
onions.    But  the  coarser  vegetables,  like  cabbages  and  car- 


148  G0MERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

rots,  eaten  on  ordinary  occasions,  were  not  on  the  table. 
Kitty  at  first  abstained  from  the  onions;  but,  seeing  Joel  mak- 
ing free  with  them,  she  sparingly  indulged,  having  heard  that 
persons  would  not  notice  the  disagreeable  effluvia  of  a  breath 
tainted  with  onions,  garlic,  or  rum,  if  they  first  made  their 
own  equally  offensive  to  others. 

Then  came  the  plum-pudding,  —  not  the  rich,  hard,  indi- 
gestible plum-pudding  on  which  John  Bull  nourishes  his 
conceit  and  surliness,  but  a  lighter,  more  palatable,  and  whole- 
some article,  and  as  well  stuffed  with  plums  as  was  the  his- 
toric pudding  made  by  good  King  Arthur.  The  lumps  of 
fat  of  the  royal  pudding,  however,  were  wanting  in  this; 
though  of  eggs,  cream,  sugar,  and  spice  there  was  surely  no 
lack.  Then  came  mince-pies,  apple-pies,  and  pumpkin-pies ; 
and  withal  a  dish  of  tea  for  the  good  wife  and  such  oth- 
ers as  cared  for  it.  But  Joel  and  Farmer  Floyd  preferred 
the  cider.  This  great  dinner,  the  only  dinner  of  the  year 
on  which  neither  pains  nor  expense  were  spared,  was  de- 
spatched in  just  an  hour;  and,  to  the  credit  of  Kitty's  nerves 
and  self-control,  it  must  be  admitted,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  excitements  of  the  morning,  she  ate  a  substantial  and 
hearty  dinner.  But,  compared  with  Joel,  she  had  eaten 
nothing,  —  nothing.  • 

Joel  was  a  fortunate  man,  as  we  predicted  he  would  be. 
The  way  the  dinner  was  prepared  would  have  been  evidence, 
even  to  a  less  acute  observer  than  he,  that  his  wife  must  have 
learned  all  the  arts  and  duties  of  housekeeping,  and  qualified 
herself  in  one  important  particular  to  make  her  home  a  place 
of  comfort  and  content.  He  was  sure  always  to  find  his  din- 
ner well  cooked,  his  house  well  arranged,  his  clothes  well 
taken  care  of  and  mended,  and  that  general  air  of  neatness 
and  enjoyment  that  would  be  sure  to  render  his  own  home, 
of  all  places  in  the  world,  the  most  inviting  and  desirable. 
All  these  blessings  were  secured  to  Joel  by  his  marriage ;  and 
what  better  marriage-settlement  would  he  desire  for  her? 
With  their  united  thrift,  they  were  sure  of  all  the  material 
happiness  and  comfort  that  this  world  could  give  to  persons 
of  their  range  of  thought  and  limited  ambition.  Idleness 
would  have  made  them  miserable,  and  great  wealth  would 
have  brought  idleness  and  care.  They  were  fitted  for 
the  lot  assigned  them  by  Providence ;  and  they  were  happy  as 
they  could  possibly  be,  wanting  for  nothing  that  was  not  with- 
in their  grasp. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  149 

How  many  people  there  are  in  our  happy  times  and  coun- 
try who  have  the  early  fortune  of  Joel  Slocum  and  his  wife! 
It  is  a  lot  that  is  open  to  all,  and  is  improved  by  a  great 
many ;  honest,  unpretending,  and  shrewdly  intelligent  people, 
who  do  their  duty  in  life  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  hardly 
know  the  cares,  trials,  and  difficulties  of  people  of  the  same 
rank  in  the  over-crowded,  aristocracy-ridden-and-ruled  coun- 
tries of  the  Old  World.  And  yet,  with  all  their  simplicity  of 
character,  how  devoted  they  are  to  their  country's  welfare ! 
how  true  to  the  instinct  of  patriotism !  how  prompt  at  the 
ballot-box !  how  ready  at  their  country's  call  to  shoulder  the 
musket,  and  go  forth  to  battle,  and,  if  need  be,  to  die !  Hap- 
py country  and  happy  people ! 

But  we  are  lingering  too  long  over  our  Thanksgiving-din- 
ner.    No  wonder :  it  hath  a  grateful  memory. 

13* 


150  GOMEET  op  montgomeey: 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"  O'  the  sudden,  up  they  rise  and  dance  j 
Then  sit  again,  and  sigh  and  glance ; 

Then  dance  again,  and  kiss. 
Their  several  ways  the  twain  did  pass 
Till  every  woman  wished  her  place, 

And  every  man  wished  his. 

By  this  time  all  were  stolen  aside 
To  counsel  and  undress  the  bride; 

But  that  he  must  not  know : 
But  yet  'twas  thought  he  guessed  her  mind, 
And  did  not  mean  to  stay  behind 

Above  an  hour  or  so."  —  Suckling. 

Aftee  the  Thanksgiving-dinner  had  been  eaten,  the  table 
was  allowed  to  stand  for  about  half  an  hour,  with  its  ample 
remnants  undisturbed,  while  the  family  gathered  round  the 
fire,  and  discoursed  of  the  various  topics  the  day  suggested. 
The  boys  sat  quiet  and  silent,  as  the  violent  exercise  on  the 
pond  in  the  keen  December  wind,  followed  by  the  enor- 
mous dinner  they  had  eaten,  had  brought  on  a  feeling  of  stu- 
por and  a  desire  of  rest.  The  old  man  smoked  his  pipe, 
looking  and  feeling  very  happy ;  and  the  good  mother  sus- 
tained the  burden  of  the  talk ;  while  Joel  and  Kitty  sat  side 
by  side,  saying  little,  but  evidently  not  unhappy.  At  the 
end  of  the  half-hour,  Kitty  suggested  that  it  was  time  to  be 
preparing  for  the  ball,  and  retired  to  her  own  room  to  make 
ready  for  that  important  event.  The  farmer  took  his  clay 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  knocked  out  the  ashes,  and  then  deposit- 
ed it,  in  a  little  leathern  loop  made  for  the  purpose,  over  the 
fireplace.  He  and  Joel  then  went  out  to  the  stable,  and  led 
out  the  horse  of  the  latter,  which  they  harnessed  to  the  sleigh. 
They  then  returned  to  the  house.  In  half  an  hour  more,  the 
bride  is  ready ;  all  the  family  come  out ;  the  happy  pair  get 
into  the  sleigh  ;  the  farmer  tucks  the  buffalo-robe  closely 
around  them :  a  cut  of  the  whip,  and  the  horse  is  off  at  a 
lively  pace.    The  farmer  and  wife  now  return  into  the  house ; 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  151 

and  the  latter  proceeds  to  clear  away  the  dinner,  and  set 
the  house  in  order  to  receive  a  few  neighbors  to  drink 
tea  in  the  evening,  congratulate  her  on  Kitty's  marriage,  and 
talk  about  the  new  minister,  the  prices  of  butter,  cheese,  and 
poultry,  and  how  to  make  soap.  The  farmer  went  directly 
to  attend  to  his  cattle ;  and  the  boys,  having  recovered  from 
their  stupor,  and  partly  digested  their  dinner,  went  forth 
with  their  sleds  to  slide  down  the  steep  hill  at  the  back  side 
of  the  barn. 

In  those  "brave  days  of  old,"  when  the  young  people 
danced  with  a  vim  and  a  vigor  that  would  shame  their  de- 
generate posterity,  if  a  ball  was  to  be  very  grand,  it  was 
customary  to  have  the  hour  of  opening  as  early  as  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon.  If  it  were  less  pretending,  then  the  hour 
was  later;  being  just  the  reverse  of  what  it  is  now,  when, 
the  later  the  hour,  the  more  fashionable  the  affair  is  supposed 
to  be.  But,  though  the  time  set  for  the  ball  to  commence 
was  at  that  early  hour,  the  guests  did  not  begin  to  assemble 
in  much  force  before  three ;  though  some  of  the  younger  and 
more  ardent,  who  had  never  been  invited  to  a  ball  before  this, 
were  prompt  to  the  hour  appointed. 

The  dancing  began  at  four  o'clock.  Alden  Tinkam,  cap- 
tain in  the  militia,  was  the  head  manager,  and  of  course 
took  the  lead,  and  marched  out  his  partner  with  a  military 
step,  taking  the  head  of  the  first  contra-dance  with  proud  and 
pretty  Isabel  Lott  for  his  partner, — the  handsomest  girl  in 
the  room,  the  most  vigorous  dancer,  and  the  acknowledged 
belle  of  all  the  balls  in  Montgomery,  whenever  the  Gomery 
girls  were  not  present.  On  those  occasions,  her  light  paled 
like  stars  before  the  sun,  like  a  State  senator  before  a  mem- 
ber of  congress,  or  a  commoner  before  a  peer.  This  was  a 
proud  affair  for  Isabel ;  for,  though  she  knew  the  mother  of 
those  she  called  "the  stuck-up  Gomerys"  would  be  there  at  a 
later  hour,  and  would  attract  more  attention  than  any  three 
unmarried  ladies  present,  she  did  not  fear  nor  envy  her  as  she 
did  her  daughters,  who  were  the  very  bane  of  her  life.  But 
as  they  were  now  away  at  school,  and  could  not  attend,  she 
was,  therefore,  in  high  spirits ;  and,  being  sure  of  a  great  tri- 
umph, was  arrogant  and  capricious  accordingly. 

How  the  young  people  did  dance  in  those  days !  There  is 
nothing  like  it  now.  There  was  none  of  the  graceful,  lazy 
gliding  over  the  floor,  in  sylph-like  ease,  to  the  measured, 


152  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

gentle  cadence  of  the  music;  none  of  the  voluptuous  swinging 
about  of  ethereal  young  ladies  in  the  arms  of  amorous,  dissolute 
young  gentlemen ;  no  dreamy  whirl  in  the  gliding,  noiseless 
waltz.  No:  it  was  dancing,  —  vigorous  and  strong.  He 
was  not  the  best  dancer  who  moved  post  easily  and  grace- 
fully about :  but  the  lion  of  the  dancing-hall  was  he  who 
threw  the  most  shakes  and  quakes  and  quivers  of  the  foot 
into  the  time  of  the  music ;  whose  instep  had  the  spring  of 
steel,  that  would  scarcely  ever  permit  the  heel  to  touch  the 
floor.  To  cut  the  pigeon's  wing  or  the  double-shumc  was 
an  accomplishment  at  a  time  when  the  mazurka,  the  polka, 
and  schottische  were  unknown.  How,  when  the  fiddle,  — 
for,  in  those  days,  the  fiddle  was  the  chief  and  often  the 
only  instrument  of  music,  though  on  this  occasion,  as  it  was 
on  a  scale  of  unprecedented  magnificence,  there  were  two 
fiddles  and  a  clarionet,  —  how,  when  the  fiddle  was  first  heard 
to  twang,  as  the  fiddler  took  his  stand  in  the  corner,  did  the 
dancers  array  themselves  in  precise,  prim  order  in  two  paral- 
lel lines  up  and  down  the  hall,  the  ladies  on  one  side,  the 
gentlemen  on  the  other,  and  there  wait,  trim,  grim,  and 
expectant,  for  the  first  downward  stroke  of  the  bow  that 
was  to  set  free  the  eager,  restless  limbs  of  the  impatient  dan- 
cers! 

It  comes  at  last !  Capt.  Tinkam,  who  has  been  standing 
on  his  left  foot,  —  his  right  as  uneasy  as  a  steed  that  scents 
the  battle  afar  off,  and  champs  his  bit,  and  paws  the  ground, 
eager  for  the  fray, — can  scarcely  wait  for  the  music  to  begin. 
A  "  stomp  "  of  the  foot,  simultaneous  with  a  sharp  burst  of 
music,  is  the  signal  from  the  first  fiddler,  who  was  called 
Christopher  Columbus;  and  then  the  right  foot  of  Capt. 
Tinkham,  incased  in  a  bran-new  pump,  and  which,  for  some 
time,  he  could  not  keep  to  the  floor  but  it  would  come  up  as 
by  a  spring  to  his  left  knee,  now  comes  down  with  a  force 
that  makes  the  house  shake ;  and  away  go  this  leading  cou- 
ple down  the  outside,  back,  down  the  middle,  back,  right 
and  left,  balance,  turn  partners,  and  so  on,  as  the  figure 
might  be.  First  they  pass  below  one  couple,  then  another 
and  another ;  and  then  the  next  that  stood  below  them  start 
off,  and  by  the  time  the  first  .couple  reach  the  foot,  what  with 
the  four  or  five  leading  couples  balancing  and  turning  cor- 
ners with  them,  the  whole  company  are  in  motion,  enjoying 
themselves  as  only  people  do  who  have  the  fire  of  youth  in 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  153 

their  veins,  and  who  have  not  yet  come  to  the  serious  cares 
of  mature  life. 

After  the  first  two  dances,  and  just  as  the  third  was  com- 
mencing, Kitty  Floyd  that  was,  now  Mrs.  Slocum,  came 
walking  into  the  hall  on  the  arm  of  her  husband.  I  doubt 
if  ever  princess  walked  to  her  coronation  looking  more  proud 
and  happy  than  she.  Joel  had  exchanged  his  new  boots  for 
a  pair  of  calf-skin  pumps  equally  new ;  and  no  sooner  had 
they  entered  the  hall  than  it  was  insisted  by  manager  Tink- 
am  that  they  should  lead  off  the  next  dance.  To  this  they 
assented ;  and  as  sweet  Kitty  stood  at  the  head  of  the  hall, 
and  saw  what  a  grand  success  the  ball  was,  she  could  not 
help  thanking  Mrs.  Gomery  in  her  heart  for  so  great  a  tri- 
umph. She  and  Joel,  when  they  had,  long  before,  first  talked  of 
being  married  on  this  day,  had  anxiously  thought  of  the  ball, 
and  feared  lest  it  should  prove  a  failure  by  reason  of  the 
superabundance  of  babies.  But  here  before  her  stood  not  only 
all  the  young  mothers,  whose  maternal  duties,  she  had  feared, 
would  keep  them  at  home,  but  seated  around  the  hall  were 
many  staid  matrons  who  had  not  honored  a  ball  for  years 
before.  Beside  these,  several  of  the  most  exclusive  and  fash- 
ionable couples  from  Bridgeville  and  Tivernet  were  present ; 
and,  to  crown  all,  there  was  an  extra  fiddle  and  clarionet. 
The  dance  proceeded :  and  though  Joel,  it  must  be  confessed, 
was  but  an  awkward  dancer,  she  saw  it  not ;  and,  if  he  went 
wrong,  she  corrected  his  mistake  with  a  glee  and  merry  laugh 
that  showed  she  had  no  eye  for  his  faults. 

It  was  fully  seven  o'clock  when  Lawyer  Gomery  and  his 
wife  walked  into  the  hall,  —  she  with  stately  tread,  and  he 
with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eye.  By  general  consent,  all 
gave  way ;  and  they  were  assigned  the  best  seats  in  the  room. 
But  neither  long  remained  seated :  the  old  squire  was  soon 
among  the  boys,  laughing  and  joking ;  and  his  wife  went  up 
to  Kitty,  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss. 

"  That  is  the  first  kiss  I  have  got  to-day,"  said  Kitty. 

"  For  shame,  Joel ! "  said  Mrs.  Gomery. 

At  this,  Joel  colored,  stammered,  tried  to  laugh,  and  couldn't; 
and  Kitty,  who  by  great  good  luck  was  standing  at  the  mo- 
ment on  the  raised  platform  which  had  been  placed  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  hall  as  a  vantage-ground  for  the  musicians, 
in  confusion  and  vexation  at  seeing  Joel  so  awkward  at 
retort,  just  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  gave  him  the 


154  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

heartiest  smack  he  had  ever  received.  It  was  like  a  spark 
of  electricity,  and  he  kissed  back  with  interest. 

"Bravo ! "  said  Mrs.  Gomery ;  and  the  spectators  of  the  scene 
shouted,  and  clapped  their  hands.  Joel  thought  he  was  the 
bravest,  most  audacious,  and  gallant  fellow  in  the  world. 
His  spirits  rose  immediately,  and  he  began  to  talk  and  laugh 
as  loud  as  the  gayest  of  them. 

In  forming  the  next  set,  it  was  insisted  that  the  old  squire 
and  his  wife  should  lead  the  dance.  The  latter  told  Kitty 
she  would  agree  to  it  if  Mr.  Gomery  would.  So  Kitty  led 
Joel  off  to  find  the  squire. 

"O  Mr.  Gomery!"  said  she,  "you  and  your  wife  must 
dance  this  time.  She  has  come  here  just  'cause  it  is  my  wed- 
din'-day,  and  she  will  if  you  will.    Do,  now,  Mr.  Gomery ! " 

"  Ah,  Kitty,  you  darling !  I  have  got  no  pumps :  besides,  I 
am  too  old.  Let  Joel  dance  with  my  wife  if  she  wants  to 
dance." 

"  What  should  I  do  all  the  while  ? "  said  Kitty  despond- 
ingly. 

"  Oh !  you  can  talk  to  me,"  said  .the  lawyer. 

"  I  wanted  to  dance  this  time,"  replied  Kitty. 

"  Well,  then,  you  can  dance  with  me.  What  say  you  to 
that?" 

"  It  is  a  bargain,"  said  Joel ;  while  Kitty  could  scarce  con- 
ceal her  vexation,  having,  before  this,  taken  pains  to  tell 
several,  that,  "  of  course,  she  should  dance  that  night  with  no 
one  but  Mr.  Slocum." 

But,  seeing  herself  entrapped,  she  made  the  best  of  it ;  and 
away  they  went  to  find  Mrs.  Gomery,  who  by  this  time  was 
dandling  in  her  arms  the  youngest  baby  in  the  adjoining 
room,  where  several  of  these  rare  prodigies  were  dispose,! 
in  different  corners,  —  some  asleep,  some  awake,  some  crying, 
some  laughing  in  their  mothers'  arms,  or  taking  a  slight 
repast  at  Nature's  fount.  Each  mother  was  surrounded  by 
her  particular  friends,  who  were  protesting  their  admiration 
of  her  young  progeny.  But  more  gathered  around  Mrs. 
Gomery  than  about  any  one  else ;  and  little  Walter,  now  six 
months  old,  attracted  more  attention  than  any  of  the  others. 
All  were  familiar  with  the  traditional  scene  between  his  mother 
and  Eliza  Thurston,  some  sixteen  years  before :  so  all  admired 
all,  and  made  no  comparisons.  The  astonishing  ways  of 
babies,  that  know  nothing  at  all,  must  always,  in  the  presence 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  155 

of  their  mothers,  be  wondered  at  and  admired,  else  beware 
of  the  maternal  displeasure. 

When  this  dance  was  over,  which  the  old  squire  managed 
to  get  through  greatly  to  his  credit  as  a  master  of  the  Terp- 
sichorean  art,  Mrs.  Gomery  returned  to  the  nursery-room  to 
look  again  after  the  young  Gomery,  whom  she  left  in  the 
care  of  her  faithful  Prudence  Dodge  while  she  was  tripping 
it  on  the  toe  still  light  and  fantastic,  though  her  older 
daughter  was  already  past  seventeen. 

The  number  of  babies  at  this  ball  was  so  large,  that,  if  I 
knew  it  exactly,  I  should  not  dare  to  tell  it,  for  fear  that  it 
would  not  be  believed,  and  thus  throw  discredit  on  this  en- 
tire history.  There  were  some  so  young,  that  they  kept 
their  mothers  from  church  for  three  months  afterwards  ;  but, 
as  the  ball  was  to  be  such  an  uncommon  affair,  go  they  must, 
would,  and  did.  But,  grand  and  gay  as  it  was,  it  could 
never  have  attained  the  importance  it  was  destined  to  ac- 
quire in  the  simple  annals  of  that  town  but  for  the  mischiev- 
ous trick  of  that  old  joker,  Joe  Pumpagin.  This  eccentric 
character,  who  had,  according  to  his  own  story,  been  a  wan- 
derer all  his  life,  —  at  one  time  a  sailor,  at  another  a  soldier 
in  the  war  of  1812,  —  had  returned  for  the  last  time  to  the 
village  about  three  months  before.  As  usual,  when  he  re- 
turned from  his  distant  pilgrimages,  he  brought  no  money 
with  him;  but  he  somehow  found  a  welcome  that  many 
others  with  money  could  not  find,  by  reason  of  his  irresisti- 
ble humor,  his  strange  stories,  and  odd  adventures  in  foreign 
lands.  But,  as  he  had  no  claim  on  any  one  in  particular,  he 
usually  quartered  himself  at  the  tavern,  until,  as  he  said, 
Diller  insulted  him  by  asking  payment,  and  then  he  would 
go  and  live  with  his  friend  Tench  Wales,  where  he  was  al- 
ways welcome,  and  never  dunned  for  payment.  And  yet  he 
was  always  welcome  in  every  house  for  an  evening.  With 
his  inexhaustible  anecdotes  and  vivid  descriptions  of  foreign 
places,  he  was  regarded  by  the  younger  folks  as  their  special 
friend ;  and  they  did  not  quite  like  that  kind  of  hospitality 
that  kept  him  amusing  the  family  through  the  evening,  and 
then  let  him  go  to  get  his  lodging  and  breakfast  at  the  house  of 
poor  Tench  Wales.  But  this  time  he  had  lived  all  the  while 
at  the  tavern  ;  for  Diller  had  been  so  busy,  and  had  had  so 
much  talking  to  do  with  people  whom  it  did  not  concern, 
that  he  had  no  time  to   dun  Old  Joe.      Besides,  Joe  was 


156  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

not  altogether  idle  or  superfluous :  he  acted  as  a  sort  of  dep- 
uty host,  receiving  the  guests,  attending  to  and  communicat- 
ing their  wants,  and  amusing  them  with  his  jokes.  In  these 
offices  he  was  so  exceedingly  polite,  so  cordial  in  his  manner, 
and  so  generally  agreeable,  that  garrulous  little  Diller  was 
quite  eclipsed  by  him.  He  would  also  entertain  the  guests 
during  the  long  winter  evenings  with  marvellous  tales  of  sea 
and  land,  in  which  he  was  always  the  principal  hero.  He 
had  tact  enough  always  to  have  his  stories  partly  true,  or  have 
a  base  of  truth,  so  that  no  one  could  tell  where  reality  ceased 
and  fiction  began.  And  yet  he  was  regarded  as  so  notorious 
a  liar,  that,  when  a  person  wished  to  say  to  another  that  his 
statement  was  false,  he  would  convey  his  idea  by  saying  it 
was  one  of  Old  Joe's  stories.  But  an  event  that  occurred 
at  the  Eagle  one  evening,  after  he  had  been  regaling  with 
his  adventures  some  stranger  guests,  and  also  several  of  the 
villagers  assembled  in  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel,  served  to 
confound  the  doubters,  and  set  him  up  as  a  faithful  chroni- 
cler of  truth.  He  had  been  giving  them  a  long  account  of 
his  adventures  years  before  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Africa, 
and  was  just  describing  the  way  in  which  he  had  rescued  a 
white  woman  from  some  black  cannibals  on  the  Island  of 
Madagascar,  just  as  they  were  getting  ready  to  kill  and  roast 
her. 

"  And  did  they  kill  and  roast  you  too  ?  or  were  you  one 
of  the  cannibals?"  said  Jesse  Spinney,  one  of  the  town's 
people,  who  was  always  doubting  and  ridiculing  Joe's  yarns. 

"  True  as  gospel  what  I  say,"  said  Joe. 

"  Did  you  fly  away  with  her  on  your  back  ?  " 

"No:  while  they  were  gathering  fagots  for  the  fire  to 
roast  her  in,  I  hid  her  under  the  bank  of  a  river.  We  both 
sunk  into  the  water  among  the  snags  of  an  old  tree  that  had 
fallen  into  the  stream;  and  there  we  lay  for  four  hours, 
our  noses  just  out  of  water.  We  were  awfully  skeered  for 
fear  the  crocodiles  or  sharks  should  get  hold  of  us ;  but  the 
branches  of  the  tree  were  so  thick  around  us,  they  couldn't 
get  at  us :  but  them  human  tigers  thought  they  had  us,  of 
course,  and  so  didn't  look  for  us  very  sharp.  When  it  be- 
came dark,  I  crawled  out,  and  dragged  the  old  woman  after 
me.  She  was  as  weak —  as  weak  in  the  body  as  Brother 
Spinney  is  in  the  head.  I  laid  her  on  the  ground,  and  then 
collected  some  snags  and  sticks,  and  made  a  sort  of  raft,  on 
which  we  floated  down  the  river  to  where  our  ship  lay." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  157 

"  What  was  that  woman's  name  ?  "  inquired  a  traveller,  who 
had  been  listening  for  an  hour  and  a  half  to  Joe's  stories, 
without  saying  a  word. 

"  Her  name  was  Piper.  She  was  almost  as  great  a  trav- 
eller as  I  was.  She  was  the  darndest  homeliest  woman 
ever  I  saw,  except  that  old  thing  that  jilted  Spinney 
when  he  went  a-courting  her,  because  he  was  so  infernal  ug- 
ly." This  occasioned  a  loud  laugh  at  Spinney's  expense,  who 
exclaimed  angrily,  "It  is  strange  people  will  listen  to  such  a 
batch  of  lies!" 

".What  is  your  name  ?  said  the  traveller. 

"  Joe  Pumpagin." 

"  Then  the  story  is  true." 

"  Of  course  it  is :  all  my  stories  are." 

"  I  don't  know  about  all ;  but  this  is  I  know,  for  I  have  a 
paper  in  my  pocket  now  that  has  the  same  story  in  it.  It  is 
an  extract  from  a  book  called  the  ( Wanderings  of  Madame 
Piper.' " 

"  Read,  read  it !  "  cried  all,  as  the  stranger  got  up,  and  took 
the  paper  from  his  overcoat  pocket.  The  traveller  complied ; 
and,  as  the  narrative  went  on,  every  few  moments  Joe  would 
exclaim,  "  Jes'  so,  jes'  so!  "  and  when  he  came  to  where  the 
female  adventurer  told  of  her  rescue  by  a  sailor  named  Joe 
Pumpagin,  whom  she  described  as  a  queer-looking  fellow 
with  his  nose  turned  back  like  the  lid  of  a  coffee-pot,  a  great 
wag,  but  an  incorrigible  liar,  Joe  exclaimed,  "It's  a  lie,  it's 
all  a  lie,  —  a  slander!  there  wan't  no  such  woman  ! " 

But  it  was  too  late.  He  was  too  clearly  identified  as  the 
rescuer  of  Madame  Piper  to  escape  her  compliments  to  his 
veracity ;  and  thenceforth  his  character  as  a  traveller  and  a 
faithful  chronicler  of  events  was  indubitably  established. 
He  could  say  any  thing  after  that,  and  few  ventured  to 
doubt  him.  The  next  night  he  had  a  new  series  of  marvel- 
lous tales,  in  one  of  which  he  sought  to  regain  his  former 
character  as  the  greatest  liar  ever  known  in  the  country,  and 
which  he  was  in  danger  of  losing,  since  one  of  his  strangest 
stories  had  been  confirmed  by  a  creditable  witness.  On  this 
night  he  minutely  described  a  voyage  to  the  south  pole ;  and 
the  strange,  weird  particulars  of  his  voyage  were  quite  as 
entrancing  as  the  tale  which  the  Ancient  Mariner  told  to 
the  wedding-guest.  His  story  had  the  appearance  of  reality 
until  he  came  to  the  pole ;  and  then  he  went  on  to  describe 

14 


158  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

the  complicated  gear  of  the  axletree  on  which  the  earth 
turned.  The  number  of  sperm-whales  used  to  grease  this 
huge  machinery  was  enormous;  and  he  said  it  was  no  won- 
der they  were  growing  scarce.  The  oil  was  not  tried  out, 
but  the  whales  were  drawn  backwards  into  a  kind  of  hop- 
per ;  and,  when  their  tails  were  drawn  in  between  the  pole 
and  the  gudgeon  in  which  it  revolved,  the  poor  animals 
would  give  a  terrific  roar,  almost  as  loud  as  were  Brother 
Spinney's  shouts  and  groans  at  the  last  revival.  He  did  not 
like  to  stay  there  long ;  for  the  earth  whirled  round  so,  that  it 
made  him  dizzy,  and  he  was  near  falling  off  several  times. 
"I  wonder  where  I  should  have  gone  to,  suppose  I  had  fallen 
off,"  said  he. 

"  Guess  you  would  have  gone  to  hell, "  said  his  inveterate 
enemy,  the  doubting  Spinney.  "  Certainly  you  would  if 
there  is  any  truth  in  the  Bible,  which  says  that  all  liars  shall 
have  their  part  there." 

"  'Tis  a  true  story,"  said  Joe,  —  "  true  as  that  about  Madame 
Piper  and  the  #annibals.  If  you  think  it  ain't  true,  just 
prove  it." 

As  proof  of  the  matter  was  not  easy  to  be  got  at,  Joe 
came  off  again  with  flying  colors,  and  Spinney  retired  crest- 
fallen. 

On  the  evening  of  the  ball,  Joe  was  in  the  highest  spirits.  He 
helped  the  ladies  from  their  sleighs  as  politely  and  gently  as 
the  most  gallant  youth  in  town,  and  took  the  babies  from 
the  arms  of  their  mothers  as  carefully  and  with  as  much 
knack  as  any  nurse  of  thirty  years'  experience ;  and  he  car- 
ried them  into  the  house  more  tenderly,  I  opine,  than  he  had, 
years  before,  borne  away  Madame  Piper  from  the  feast  of  the 
cannibals.  He  constituted  himself  general  guardian  and 
watcher  over  the  little  ones ;  passing  from  one  to  another, 
and  praising  them  all  as  children  of  wondrous  beauty ;  tell- 
ing each  mother  slyly,  that  her  baby  was  the  handsomest  one 
in  the  room,  and  making  himself  vastly  agreeable  and  useful. 

The  dancing  went  on  briskly  till  nine  o'clock,  when  supper 
was  announced ;  and  the  company  proceeded  to  the  dining- 
room,  the  old  squire  and  his  wife  leading  the  way.  It  was 
half-past  ten  before  they  left  the  table,  during  which  time  the 
servants  and  nurses  having  charge  of  the  children  were  very 
impatient  and  restless.     Old  Joe,  however,  made  himself  as 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  159 

agreeable  as  possible,  and  hushed  the  children,  and  told  the 
waiting-women  that  their  turn  at  the  frosted  cakes,  almonds, 
oranges,  and  raisins,  would  come  by  and  by;  and  when  it 
did  come,  and  they  got  down  to  the  table,  they  must  take 
their  time.  They  little  knew  the  mischief  that  was  brew- 
ing in  his  mischief-making  head. 

The  anxious  mothers,  as  soon  as  they  returned  from  the 
supper-table,  all  went  to  look  for  their  offspring ;  and,  seeing 
them  all  asleep  in  their  respective  corners,  told  the  waiting- 
maids  to  go  down  and  get  some  supper.  They  also  reminded 
them  to  remember  and  take  something  for  the  children  at 
home,  as  their  own  pockets  were  not  half  large  enough. 
Mrs.  Gomery,  however,  gave  no  such  caution ;  for,  before  ris- 
ing from  the  table,  she  had  laid  out  two  of  the  finest  oranges, 
and  told  the  waiter  to  keep  them  for  her  till  she  went  home, 
as  they  were  for  her  two  boys.  No  other  woman  present  had 
the  assurance  to  follow  her  example;  but  what  they  took 
they  removed  very  quietly,  —  slipping  the  fruit,  nuts,  and 
cake,  unobserved,  under  the  table  and  into  their  pockets. 
But,  if  their  manner  was  not  as  good  as  hers,  they  secured 
double  the  quantity. 

The  servants  all  rushed  to  the  supper-room  ;  and  the  moth- 
ers, seeing  the  children  all  quiet,  returned  to  the  hall,  and  the 
dancing  soon  began  again. 

And  now  was  the  time  for  Joe  Pumpagin  to  carry  into 
effect  his  Herod-like  plot.  He  took  a  survey  of  the  field. 
There  were  seven  babies  between  the  ages  of  three  and  six 
months,  and  any  number  less  than  a  year  older.  But  only 
against  the  younger  ones  would  it  be  safe  for  him  to  proceed. 
The  older  might  rebel ;  and  their  lungs  were  so  strong,  they 
might  give  an  alarm  to  their  mothers  in  the  hall.  But  all 
were  alike  asleep.  Not  a  waking  eye  was  in  the  room  save 
his  own,  and  they  were  wide  awake.  During  the  evening, 
whenever  either  of  the  seven  younger  children  had  cried,  he 
had  either  taken  it  from  its  corner,  or  from  its  mother's  or 
nurse's  arms ;  and,  before  giving  it  back,  he  contrived  so  as  to 
take  out  nearly  all  the  pins  from  its  clothes,  and  leave  it  in  a 
ready  condition  for  carrying  into  effect  his  original  scheme. 
Quickly,  then,  as  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear,  he  proceeded 
to  his  work.  First,  he  took  the  boy  baby  of  Reuben  Chan- 
dler and  his  wife  Emeline,  who  was  the  daughter  of  his  old 
inveterate  enemy,  Jesse  Spinney  the  doubter,  and  who  lived 


160  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

near  Bridgeville,  ten  miles  to  the  north-west  of  Montgomery ; 
and  for  it  he  substituted  the  girl  baby  of  another  couple, 
Josiah  Gibson  and  his  wife  of  Tivernet,  seven  miles  to  the 
east.  Carefully  and  gently,  his  ears  all  open  for  the  approach 
of  intruders,  he  unswaddled  them  both,  and  exchanged  clothes 
and  shifted  their  positions,  so  that,  in  less  than  four  minutes' 
time,  the  boy  was  sleeping  in  the  clothes  and  comer  where 
the  girl  had  been,  and  the  girl  was  equally  quiet  in  the  swad- 
dling covering  of  the  boy.  "  Neatly  done,"  said  Joe  to  him- 
self, hardly  able  to  keep  from  laughing  aloud.  The  next 
baby  he  approached  was  Walter  Gomery ;  but  no  sooner  did 
he  attempt  to  move  him  than  the  young  fellow  raised  a  loud 
protest,  that  was  like  to  have  put  a  stop  to  all  further  proceed- 
ings. Joe  drew  back,  fearing  lest  the  noise  should  be  heard  in 
the  hall.  But  the  boy  was  still  again,  and  Joe  passed  on  to  the 
next,  saying  to  himself,  "You  can't  mix  them  Gomerys  with 
common  people,  anyway."  The  next  two  were  a  boy  and 
girl,  each  about  six  months  old ;  but  the  hair  of  one  was 
much  thicker  and  darker  than  the  other.  "  No  time  to  stick 
at  trifles,"  said  Joe ;  and  within  five  minutes  these  two  —  one 
of  them,  the  boy,  being  the  son  of  Lewis  Hinson  and  wife 
of  Tivernet,  and  the  other  the  only  and  first-born  child  of 
Nathan  Tarlton,  a  young  joiner  in  the  village,  who,  a  year 
and  a  half  before,  had  married  Mary  Ann  Fisher,  daughter 
of  David  the  son  of  Asa  Fisher,  whom  our  readers  will  recol- 
lect as  one  of  the  pioneers  of  this  section  of  the  country  — 
were  transposed. 

There  was  but  one  pair  more  that  Joe  had  marked  as  vic- 
tims to  be  transposed ;  and  he  went  to  the  door  to  see  if  there 
was  any  danger  ahead.  Two  of  the  young  mothers  —  one 
of  a  changed,  and  the  other  of  an  unchanged  baby  —  were 
approaching ;  and  Joe  invited  them  to  observe  how  sweetly 
all  were  sleeping.  They  immediately  returned  to  the  hall, 
and  reported  that  all  were  quiet  and  asleep ;  and  Joe,  having 
the  coast  now  clear,  soon  changed  these  two,  who  were  boys, 
—  one  of  which  was,  unfortunately,  two  months  older  than 
the  other.  The  younger  was  the  son  of  Thomas  Homer, 
who  lived  about  a  mile  from  the  village,  on  the  Tivernet  Road. 
The  elder  was  the  son  of  Isaac  Crooker  of  the  village,  —  a 
shoemaker,  and  a  very  good  one  too.  He  had  made  the  wed- 
ding-boots of  Joel  Slocum. 

This  nice  and  difficult  job  of  transposing  and  transmogri- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  161 

fying  so  many  babies  was  finally  accomplished  much  more 
successfully  than  the  wicked  sinner  who  had  conceived  and 
executed  it  had  ever  hoped.  He  had  thought  it  very  likely 
that  he  might  confound  one  or  two  pairs  of  them,  and  then 
that  the  trick  would  be  discovered,  and  a  great  commotion 
caused  in  the  ball-room,  and  great  laughter  and  sport  for  those 
who  were  not  personally  concerned  in  the  transposition. 
But  he  had  done  so  much  better  than  this,  that  he  fairly 
chuckled  to  himself:  and,  for  fear  he  might  yet  be  discovered, 
he  blew  out  all  the  candles,  and  wet  the  wicks,  so  that  they 
would  not  light  again ;  and  the  only  light  in  the  room  came  in 
through  the  door,  from  a  single  candle  in  the  entry-way  be- 
tween the  room  and  the  hall.  Thus  the  room  was  so  dark, 
that  it  would  have  been  almost  impossible  for  the  mothers  to 
distinguish  the  features  even  of  their  own  children. 

When  all  was  completed  to  his  satisfaction,  Joe  went  down 
stairs,  and  out  into  the  open  air,  and  looked  about,  wishing 
the  party  would  break  up.  For  some  time,  he  dared  not  ven- 
ture into  the  hall,  or  into  the  presence  of  others  ;  for  he  could 
not  keep  from  laughing  at  the  success  of  his  own  trick.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  soon  returned  into  the  house,  and,  unobserved, 
set  the  old  house-clock,  that  stood  in  the  main  entry  of  the 
hotel,  an  hour  and  a  half  ahead.  Then  he  went  outside,  and 
looked  up  again  at  the  moon,  that  was  shining  full  and  clear 
in  her  meridian.  The  snow  was  perfectly  white,  and  glitter- 
ing in  all  directions;  and  the  evening  was  just  what  all  peo- 
ple wish  for  a  Thanksgiving  evening.  A  happy  thought  now 
strikes  'Joe.  He  is  in  a  fever  of  anxiety  that  the  people,  or 
at  least  the  parents  of  the  interchanged  babies,  should  leave 
before  his  trick  is  discovered.  But  genius  is  full  of  resources, 
and  Joe  was  a  genius,  —  a  rare  genius  ;  and  the  thought  that 
occurs  to  him  is,  that  he  will  tell  the  company  that  the 
weather  has  changed,  and  a  snow-squall  is  approaching.  To 
think,  with  a  man  of  genius,  is  to  perform.  So  he  immedi- 
ately re-entered'  the  house,  and,  going  up  into  the  hall,  ap- 
proached, as  it  were,  carelessly,  near  where  Mrs.  Gomery  was 
standing,  surrounded  by  several  who  delighted  to  linger  be- 
neath her  shadow;  and  observed  to  some  one  in  her  hearing, 
that  the  weather  had  changed,  and  that  it  threatened  a  tre- 
mendous squall  of  wind  and  snow.  Being  an  old  tar,  he  was 
acknowledged  as  weather-wise ;  and  Mrs.  Gomery,  noticing 
the  remark,  asks  what  time  it  is.    A  young  man  standing 

14* 


162  G0MERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  ! 

near,  having  a  new  watch  which  he  is  eager  to  show,  at 
once  produces  it,  and  says  it  is  twelve  o'clock. 

"  Later  than  that,"  says  Joe  :  "  past  one." 

"  I  guess  my  watch  is  right ! "  indignantly  answered  the 
youth,  showing  his  silver  time-keeper  with  pride.  "  It  is  bran- 
new,  and  cost  twenty  dollars ;  and  I  guess  I  ought  to  know 
as  well  as  you." 

"  Run  down  into  the  entry,"  said  the  madam  to  her  servant 
Prudence,  who  had  just  come  in  to  tell  her  that  Walter  was 
awake,  and  calling  for  his  supper,  —  "  run  down,  and  see  what 
time  it  is  by  the  clock." 

The  woman  hurried  away,  and  soon  returned,  saying  that 
it  was  half-past  one. 

"  What !  Then  it  is  time  for  us  to  go.  Mr.  Gomery,  it  is 
half-past  one  o'clock ;  and  I  meant  to  be  at  home  by  twelve." 

She  hastened  to  the  ante-room,  where  cloaks,  shawls,  and 
bonnets  had  been  left,  and  was  followed  by  all  the  young 
mothers,  who  had  been  more  alarmed  at  the  story  of  the  im- 
pending squall  than  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  Horses  were 
at  once  called  for,  and,  ere  many  minutes,  began  to  be  driven 
up  to  the  door ;  the  large  old  family  horse  of  Lawyer  Gom- 
ery being  the  first.  He  handed  his  wife  into  the  sleigh ;  and 
old  Joe  brought  up  the  rear  with  young  Walter  in  his  arms, 
who,  by  this  time,  was  bawling  lustily.  The  sleigh  was  a 
very  large  one,  made  to  order  for  the  squire,  with  room  for 
several  children  in  front.  This  space  was  occupied  on  this 
occasion  by  the  faithful  Prudence,  who  sat  on  a  stool  or 
cricket  at  the  feet  of  her  mistress. 

Joe  was  equally  polite  and  serviceable  to  all  the  ladies  who 
had  brought  their  infants  with  them, —  carrying  them  down 
and  handing  them  to  the  maternal  arms  as  carefully  as  though 
ajar  would  be  fatal  to  them,  and  saying  to  each,  as  he  deliv- 
ered the  precious  treasure,  that  hers  was  the  prettiest  baby 
at  that  ball.  At  length  the  last  baby  of  those  he  had  manip- 
ulated was  delivered  to  the  last  other  baby's  mother ;  and  the 
sleigh  containing  them  started  off.  It  was  not  out  of  sight ; 
but  Joe  could  hold  in  no  longer.  He  roared  out  in  a  laugh 
that  frightened  the  horse  next  in  the  line.  He  shook,  he 
giggled,  he  snickered,  till  people  thought  he  must  be  either 
drunk  or  crazy.-  He  returned  to  the  bar-room,  and  laughed 
louder  than  ever.  He  sat  down  a  moment,  and  gave  a 
chuckle ;  then  he  got  up,  and  went  into  the  hall,  where  lie 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  163 

caught  hold  of  some  of  the  young  girls,  and  whisked  them 
about  like  a  rollicking  young  blade;  then  he  improvised  a 
hornpipe,  to  the  astonishment  of  all  beholders ;  then  he  re- 
turned to  the  room  where  the  young  innocents  had  been,  if 
not  slaughtered,  delivered  into  unknown  hands.  Here  he  lay 
down  on  the  floor,  and  rolled  over  and  laughed  and  cackled 
and  chuckled  like  a  madman. 

"  What  is  it,  Joe  ?  "  asked  Capt.  Tinkam.  "  Give  us  all  a 
chance." 

"You  will  know  before  to-morrow  night,  and  then  you 
may  laugh  too ;  but  I  can't  tell  you  now." 

But,  great  as  was  the  delight  of  Joe  at  the  success  of  his 
trick,  he  thought  that  it  would  be  prudent  to  be  out  of  the 
way  of  the  explosion  that  was  sure  to  follow.  So  he  quickly 
put  on  his  hat  and  overcoat,  and  left  the  house.  Some  of 
the  people  who  departed  an  hour  later  —  for  the  ball  did  not 
break  up  with  the  departure  of  those  who  brought  their  ju- 
venile encumbrances —  overtook  him  about  three  miles  from 
town,  on  the  road  towards  the  sea-coast.  But  they  only 
said,  "  He  was  always  an  odd  critter."  -> 

Soon  after  the  departure  of  old  Joe,  the  interest  in  the  ball 
began  to  flag.  Within  an  hour,  all  the  married  people  had 
left,  including  Joel  Slocum  and  his  wife,  who  had  been  among 
the  first  to  leave.  Some  of  the  younger  people  were  anxious 
to  keep  it  up  much  later,  being  desirous  of  getting  the  worth 
of  their  money :  but,  at  three  o'clock,  there  were  few  left  who 
were  not  too  tired  to  dance  more ;  and,  half  an  hour  later,  all 
had  left,  and  the  lights  were  put  out  in  the  hall.  Little 
Diller,  utterly  tired  out,  at  last  retired  to  bed ;  and  the  ball 
had  closed,  a  complete  success  for  him  and  for  the  glory  of 
his  house. 


164  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  Ah  I  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
And  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress; 
And  cheeks  all  pale,  which  but  an  hour  ago 
Blushed  at  the  praise  of  their  own  loveliness." 

The  quotation  is  exceedingly  apposite  as  a  heading  to  this 
chapter,  albeit  the  application  is  to  a  different  stage  of  fes- 
tivities from  that  given  by  the  author.  "The  ball  in  Belgi- 
um's capital  was  at  its  gayest  season  when  "the  cannon's 
opening  roar  "  was  first  heard ;  whereas  the  ball  at  Diller's 
Tavern,  Montgomery  Village,  was  over  before  the  great  com- 
motion began.  But  in  both  cases  there  was  "  hurrying  to 
and  fro,  and  gathering  tears,  and  tremblings  of  distress; "  and, 
if  the  cheeks  present  at  Diller's  tavern  did  not  blush  at  their 
own  praise,  it  was  only  because  they  received  it  as  their  hon- 
est due,  and  had  no  occasion  to  blush  at  the  fibbing  of  their 
adorers.  In  this  instance,  however,  the  blushing,  if  there 
were  any,  was  rather  at  the  praise  of  their  babies  than  of 
themselves  ;  for  old  Joe  had  told  every  mother,  as  he  handed 
somebody's  else  baby  to  her,  that  it  was  by  far  the  finest  and 
prettiest  child  at  the  ball,  and  just  like  its  mother.  And 
there  was  this  other  difference,  among  many  more,  between 
the  beauties  of  Montgomery  and  those  of  Belgium's  capital  : 
those  were  in  a  state  of  consternation  and  fear  because  of 
the  dread  Napoleon,  who  was  advancing;  these  were  in  a 
state  of  anxiety  and  vexation  because  of  Joe  Pumpagin, 
who  was  retreating  as  fast  as  his  two  legs  and  a  stout  stick 
could  carry  him. 

But  we  must  follow  the  people  to  their  homes  if  we  would 
know  how  they  discovered  the  shameful  trick  that  had  been 
played  upon  them,  and  the  way  they  bore  themselves  under 
the  great  tribulation. 

And  first  we  will  accompany  Thomas  Homer  and  his  wife, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  165 

who  lived,  as  we  have  before  said,  about  two  miles  from  the 
village.  Their  child,  which  was  their  first-born,  and  was  only- 
three  months  old  at  the  time,  had  been  sleeping  without  dis- 
turbance, except  the  gentle  han  dling  which  Joe  had  given  it, 
for  an  hour  before  it  was  taken  up  to  be  carried  home.  The 
child  of  Isaac  Crooker  had  been  sleeping  quietly  ever  since 
Joe  had  metamorphosed  and  placed  it  in  the  corner  belonging 
to  the  young  Homer.  This  child  was  some  two  or  three 
months  older  than  the  other ;  and  it  was  this  one  that  Joe 
took  up  so  carefully,  and  carried  down  to  the  door,  in  the 
very  sight  and  presence  of  unsuspecting  Dorcas  Homer. 
"  Isn't  he  a  bouncer?  "  said  he,  gently  tossing  him  in  his  arms. 
"What  is  his  name?"  —  "We  haven't  named  him  yet,"  re- 
plied his  mother.  "Well,  then,  let  me  name  him,"  said  Joe, 
holding  the  child  in  one  arm,  while  with  the  other  he  helped 
her  into  the  sleigh.  "  'Tis  the  only  child  in  the  lot  I  care  to 
name.  I  tell  you  what,"  said  he,  sinking  his  voice  to  a  whis- 
per :  "  it  is  the  finest  baby  I  ever  saw  ;  and,  you  know,  I  have 
been  a  great  traveller.  Name  him  for  me,  and  I  will  give 
him  a  cow."  —  "  It  is  a  bargain,  "  said  she,  as  Thomas  took 
his  seat  and  drove  off. 

They  had  hardly  started  from  the  house,  when  young  Joe 
Pumpagin,  just  named,  began  to  make  a  loud  outcry,  which 
the  proud  and  happy  mother  found  means  very  soon  to  sup- 
press. "  Say  what  they  will,"  said  she,  "  about  old  Joe  :  he 
knows  more  about*  babies  than  any  man  I  know  of.  Isn't 
he  kind  to  give  baby  a  cow  for  calling  him  Joseph?"  — 
"  Humph ! "  exclaimed  her  husband,  not  quite  sure  of  the  re- 
ward, never  having  known  of  his  paying  a  dollar  to  anybody. 
But  the  artful  Joe  had  so  smothered  his  promises  with  words 
of  flattery,  that  the  fond  mother  had  not  thought  of  that,  and 
was  chatting  away  to  her  darling,  calling  him  Joe,  pretty 
Joe,  Josey  have  a  cow,  —  mooly  cow.  "Thomas,"  said  she 
suddenly,  "  this  boy's  teething ! "  —  "  Nonsense  ! "  said  her 
husband  :  "  he  is  not  three  months  old  yet."  —  "  He  has  cer- 
tainly got  a  tooth,"  said  she  more  positively.  "  Mr.  Pumpa- 
gin said  he  was  a  very  remarkable  child.  I  told  you  he  knew 
all  about  babies."  The  conversation  here  fell  off  into  com- 
monplace topics  —  about  the  ball,  about  the  bride,  and  about 
Mrs.  Gomery  —  until  they  reached  home. 

This  couple  lived  alone,  having  neither  man  nor  maid  ser- 
vant ;  and,  as  thieves  were  little  feared  in  those  days,  they 


166  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

had  gone  off  and  left  the  doors  unlocked.  They  drove  up 
to  the  door ;  and  Thomas,  having  assisted  his  wife  and  little 
Joe  into  the  house,  drove  to  the  barn,  put  up  the  horse, 
and  fed  the  cattle,  as  he  thought  very  likely  it  would  other- 
wise be  late  before  they  got  their  regular  morning  feed.  In 
fact,  it  did  not  lack  more  than  an  hour  of  the  usual  time  for 
it  already.  While  he  was  attending  to  these  duties,  his  wife 
had  gone  into  the  house :  and,  laying  young  Josey  on  the 
bed,  she  struck  a  light,  and  began  to  build  a  fire ;  for  her  feet 
had  become  benumbed  and  cold,  and  she  did  not  care  to  go 
to  bed  till  she  had  warmed  them.  The  fire  was  soon  blazing ; 
and,  when  her  husband  came  in,  the  two  sat  before  the  large 
fireplace,  and  warmed  their  toes  in  the  coseyest  manner  possi- 
ble, resuming,  in  the  mean  while,  the  talk  about  the  ball. 
Then  she  went  and  brought  out  little  Joe ;  and,  as  she  did 
so,  she  exclaimed,  "  This  boy  is  awful  heavy,  or  else  I  am  aw- 
ful tired."  She  sat  down,  with  the  full  light  of  the  candle 
and  of  the  fire  shining  in  his  face. 

"  How  strange  he  looks ! "  said  she,  turning  to  her  husband. 

" Good  God! "  cried  he.  "  Strange !  I  guess  he  does :  that 
ain't  our  baby ! " 

"  So  it  isn't,"  said  she,  giving  a  scream,  and  nearly  letting 
the  child  fall.  Then  she  began  to  cry ;  and  though  the  child, 
unused  to  such  parental  demonstrations,  began  to  assert  his 
right  to  be  heard,  she  threw  it  contemptuously  into  the  cra- 
dle, and  commenced  wringing  her  hands,  and  crying  out, "  Oh, 
my  boy,  my  poor  boy,  my  darling  baby  boy !  He  is  lost !  I 
know  he  is  lost !  Some  pirates  came  and  stole  him  away ! 
Oh,  dear ! 

" No,  they  haven't,  either,"  said  Thomas.  " It  is  nothing 
but  a  trick  of  that  old  vagabond,  Joe  Pumpagin.  He  has 
given  you  the  wrong  baby,  and  given  ours  to  somebody  else. 
Perhaps  this  is  little  Walter  Gomery." 

"  No,  'tisn't,  either !  it  is  Ruth  Crooker's.  It  is  just  such  a 
hateful  little  thing  as  hers.  I  shall  pisen  it  if  it  stays  in  the 
house  here  ;  I  know  I  shall !     Oh,  that  vile  old  Joe !  " 

"  The  wretch ! "  said  Thomas,  clinching  his  fist,  and  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  room.  "  I  will  go  right  down  to  the 
tavern,  and  break  every  bone  in  his  body;  I'll  kill  him; 
I'll  maul  him ;  I'll  beat  him ;  I'll  chaw  him  up.  But  there  is 
no  time  to  lose.  Get  the  brat  ready,  and  I  will  bring  out  the 
horse  again." 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  167 

So,  without  stopping  to  put  on  his  overcoat,  he  rushed  out ; 
and,  more  quickly  than  ever  before,  the  old  horse  was  har- 
nessed to  the  sleigh,  and  driven  up  to  the  door.  His  wife,  in 
the  mean  while,  had  thrown  on  her  shawl,  cloak,  and  bonnet, 
muttering  all  sorts  of  invectives  against  that  hateful  Old  Joe, 
and  the  innocent  child  lying  in  the  cradle.  There  was  not  a 
word  now  for  darling  little  Josey.  The  cow-prospect  was 
suddenly  eclipsed. 

But  she  caught  up  the  child,  so  innocently  offensive  to 
her  eyes,  when  she  heard  the  bells  at  the  door,  and  ran  out, 
and  jumped  into  the  sleigh.  With  neither  overcoat  nor 
mittens,  Homer  stood  up  in  the  sleigh,  and  hit  the  old  horse 
a  smart  cut  across  his  hind-quarters ;  at  which  he  sprang  for- 
ward so  briskly,  that,  in  turning  into  the  road,  he  came  very 
near  upsetting  the  sleigh,  and  emptying  its  contents  into  the 
road.  But  no  sooner  was  he  in  the  open  way,  with  a  smooth 
road  before  him,  than  his  excited  driver  plied  the  whip  again 
and  again ;  and  the  old  horse  laid  back  his  ears  and  nose  like 
a  thorough-bred.  Better  time  was  never  made  in  that  part 
of  the  country  than  was  made  by  this  old  farm-horse  between 
his  owner's  house  and  the  tavern.  The  few  stragglers  who 
had  been  to  take  their  ladies  to  their  homes,  and  were  return- 
ing to  their  own  domiciles,  when  they  saw  Thomas  Homer,  in 
the  clear  moonlight,  drive  past  them  so  furiously,  standing  up 
in  his  sleigh,  and  every  minute  giving  the  old  horse  another 
blow,  while  his  wife  sat  crouching,  with  the  child  in  her 
arms,  upon  the  seat,  were  a  thousand  times  more  astonished 
than  were  the  witnesses  of  the  famous  race  of  John  Gilpin. 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  door  of  the  Eagle,  all  was 
silent  about  the  house  and  stable.  Not  a  soul  was  stirring. 
The  lights  were  all  out.  Little  Diller  and  his  wife,  weary 
and  exhausted,  though  very  happy  at  the  success  of  the  ball, 
having  seen  every  thing  safely  disposed,  and  the  doors  shut 
and  bolted,  had  retired,  and  were  both  in  their  first  sleep, 
when  they  were  awakened  by  a  tremendous  knocking  at  the 
door,  and  a  voice  crying,  "Mr.  Diller,  get  up !  here  is  a  mis- 
take !  We've  got  the  wrong  baby ! "  The  little  man  hopped 
out  of  bed,  and  looked  out  where  the  moon  was  still  shining  as 
clear  as  ever.  He  raised  the  window,  and  called  out,  "  Who's 
there?" 

"  It's  me,"  answered  a  voice,  —  "  me,  Tom  Homer.  There 
is  a  great  accident  has   happened !     We've  got  the  wrong 


168  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

baby !  Do  you  know  who's  got  our  baby?  That  old  rascal, 
Joe  Purapagin,  changed 'em.  Where  is  he?  I'll  kill  him! 
I'll  break  every  bone  in  his  body !     I  certainly  will." 

"  Hold  on  a  bit,  and  I'll  come  down,"  said  Diller,  closing 
the  window.  His  wife,  having  heard  the  conversation,  at 
once  perceived,  that,  tired  as  she  was,  she  must  get  up ;  and, 
with  great  good  nature,  this  worthy  couple  hastily  dressed 
themselves.  Descending  into  the  entry-hall,  the  landlord 
opened  the  front-door,  and  asked  the  untimely  visitors  to 
come  into  the  house.  Thomas  helped  his  wife  over  the  slip- 
pery way  from  the  sleigh  to  the  door,  taking  the  child 
in  his  own  arms.  They  then  entered  the  house,  and  were 
shown  to  the  guests'  parlor. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  said  Diller. 

"  Mean  ! "  said  Homer.  "  It  means  that  we  have  got  the 
wrong  baby." 

"Whose  baby  have  you  got?" 

"  I  don't  know  whose  it  is, "  said  the  woman,  crying  spite- 
fully through  her  tears.  "It  is  such  an  ugly  little  brat,  I 
think  it  is  Ruth  Crooker's.  Just  look  at  the  little  goose! 
Not  a  bit  like  mine !  Mr.  Pump "  —  She  was  going  to 
say  that  Mr.  Pumpagin  had  called  hers  the  finest  baby  at  the 
ball;  but  reflecting  that,  under  all  the  circumstances,  Mr. 
Pumpagin's  testimony  in  the  case  would  not  be  of  great 
value,  she  checked  herself. 

Now,  Ruth,  the  wife  of  Isaac  Crooker,  had  long  been  the 
mortal  enemy  of  Dorcas  Harrison.  They  grew  up  hating 
each  other  as  jealous  rivals.  Dorcas,  when  she  first  saw  that 
Isaac  was  showing  partiality  to  Ruth,  employed  all  her  arts 
and  devices  to  win  him  to  herself,  but  she  failed  completely; 
and,  when  Tom  Homer  began  to  show  her  particular  atten- 
tion, her  kindly  acts  were  fully  reciprocated  by  Ruth,  who 
more  than  hinted  to  him  that  she  cared  little  for  Crooker, 
and  that,  if  he  would  only  say  the  word,  she  would  send  him 
packing.  The  truth  was,  each  would  have  been  a  little  bet- 
ter pleased  originally  had  the  other's  husband  fallen  to  her 
lot.  But  it  was  not  so  to  be :  hence  they  came  in  good  time 
to  hate  not  only  each  other,  but  each  other's  husband,  and  all 
that  belonged  to  him.  Hence  the  idea  in  the  mind  of  Dor- 
cas, that  she  had  had  the  child  of  her  hated  rival  and  enemy 
in  her  arms  for  so  long  a  time,  and  had  actually  given  it  the 
nourishment  that  Nature  designed  for  her  own  precious  dar- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  169 

ling,  made  her  mad  enough  to  strangle  the  child  then  and 
there,  —  the  darling  Josey.  But  when  she  thought  that  her 
own  sweet  bahy  was  probably  at  that  moment  in  the  arms 
of  the  murdering  Ruth,  perhaps  imbibing  the  fatal  poison  of 
the  rival  blood,  which,  if  not  potent  to  destroy  life,  was  yet 
sure  to  contaminate  the  system  and  make  a  reprobate  of  him, 
at  least  a  thief,  she  could  contain  herself  no  longer,  but 
screamed  and  cried,  and  tore  her  hair,  so  as  to  alarm  little 
Diller ;  and  even  her  husband  was  afraid  of  consequences. 

Good  Mrs.  Diller,  who  had  come  into  the  room  in  time  to 
witness  the  latter  part  of  this  scene,  with  her  ready  tact  at 
once  invented  a  harmless  story  to  calm  the  storm  now  raging 
furiously.  Looking  at  the  child  which  her  husband  had  been 
obliged  to  take,  as  both  Homer  and  his  wife  seemed  to  loathe 
it,  she  said,  "No,  it  ain't  Ruth  Crooker's  baby,  neither.  It 
is  Walter  Gomery ;  and  I  guess  nobody  needn't  be  afraid  of 
nussing  any  Gomery  baby." 

"  Is  it  a  Gomery  ?  "  said  she  eagerly.  "  I  thought  it  was 
too  pretty  for  a  Crooker." 

"Hush,  hush ! "  said  her  husband,  who  saw  how  ridiculous 
she  was  making  herself.     "  Shall  we  call  him  little  Josey?" 

"Well,  it  is  no  great  matter  if  it  is  Squire  Gomery's  child. 
Come,  Thomas,  let  us  go  up  to  the  Pivot,  and  get  ours;  back, 
and  let  Mrs.  Gomery  have  hers  before  she  finds  out  the  mis- 
take. They  look  so  much  alike,  perhaps  she  won't  notice 
the  exchange." 

Diller  and  his  wife,  and  even  Tom  Homer,  smiled  when 
they  saw  the  mother's  vanity  showing  itself  under  such  try- 
ing circumstances  in  such  contradictions.  If  it  were  Mrs. 
Gomery's  child,  then  it  was  a  beauty,  and  wonderfully  like 
her  own ;  but,  if  Ruth  Crooker's,  then  it  was  a  hateful,  ugly 
thing,  and  offensive  to  the  sight.  ,; 

Mrs.  Diller  knew  well  enough  that  the  child  was  Ruth 
Crooker's;  but  her  quick  wit  readily  suggested  a  way  to 
lessen  the  difficulty  of  the  situation.  She  said  —  as  it  was 
barely  possible  that  it  might  be  the  child  of  Lewis  Hinson 
of  Tivernet,  though  she  knew  it  was  not  Ruth  Crooker's  — 
it  would  be  best  to  leave  it  there,  and  go  up  to  the  Pivot, 
and  ascertain  if  there  was  any  mistake  up  there,  and,  if  so, 
get  her  own  precious.     "What's  his  name?" 

"Joe,"  said  Homer  dryly. 

15 


170  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  Satan !  "  snapped  out  his  wife,  vexed  with  him,  but  more 
vexed  with  herself. 

They  assented  to  the  proposition,  however,  and,  leaving 
the  child  with  Mrs.  Diller,  had  no  sooner  driven  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  Pivot  than  the  cunning  woman  threw  a 
cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and,  taking  the  disowned  child  in 
her  arms,  ran  over  to  Isaac  Crooker's,  which,  fortunately,  was 
close  by.  The  daylight  was  now  disputing  the  reign  of  the 
moon;  and,  as  she  approached  the  house,  she  saw  a  light 
moving  about  as  if  something  unusual  had  occurred. 

She  knocked  at  the  door ;  which  was  quickly  opened  by 
Isaac,  looking  excited  and  troubled.  "  Here  is  your  baby ! " 
said  she,  giving  it  to  him.  He  caught  it  eagerly,  and  ran 
into  his  wife's  bedroom,  where  she  was  endeavoring  to  dress 
herself;  but,  having  learned  the  mistake  about  two  minutes 
before,  was  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that  she  had  got 
her  gown  on  hind  side  before,  forgetful,  at  the  moment,  of  a 
recent  incident  that  rendered  that  style  of  dress  inconvenient. 
Isaac  had  an  old-maid  sister,  who  lived  with  him,  —  a  staid, 
thrifty  woman,  who  had  not  been  to  the  ball,  and  who,  hav- 
ing got  up  early  and  built  the  fire,  brought  the  baby  out  to 
still  its  crying.  She  saw  at  once  it  was  not  her  brother's 
child,  and,  running  to  the  door  of  his  bedroom,  gave  the 
startling  information.  Quicker  than  his  wont,  he  was  out  of 
bed  and  in  his  pantaloons  and  the  pumps  he  had  worn  to  the 
ball  the  night  before.  In  this  toilet  he  met  the  landlord's 
wife  as  she  opened  the  door.  The  other  child  was  in  the 
arms  of  the  maiden  sister,  who  was  regarding  it  very  much 
as  it  might  be  supposed  a  hen  would  regard  a  young  owl 
hatched  among  her  chickens.  Isaac  rushed  into  the  bedroom, 
carrying  the  child ;  and,  when  the  mother  saw  it,  she  clasped 
it  convulsively,  and  smothered  it  with  kisses.  After  fondling 
it  a  while,  she  laid  it  on  the  bed,  and  changed  her  dress  to  the 
right  side  before.  Kind-hearted  Mrs.  Diller  took  the  other 
child  from  the  astonished  spinster;  and  to  the  question, 
"  Whose  child  is  it  ?  "  she  only  answered,  "  It  isn't  yours,"  and 
hurried  out  of  the  house,  and  homewards,  without  heeding 
the  reply  of  the  indignant  maid,  who  was  almost  as  much 
scandalized  as  if  the  answer  had  been  the  reverse  of  what  it 
was. 

She  returned  to  the  house,  and,  going  into  her  own  room, 
laid  the  child  in  her  own  bed,  and  proceeded  to  complete  her 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  171 

toilet,  that  had  been  slighted  when  she  first  arose.  It  was 
not  long  before  she  heard  bells  at  the  dobr ;  and  directly  she 
recognized  the  ejaculations  of  Tom  Homer  and  his  wife,  the 
latter  now  more  furious  than  ever.  She  had  not  been  very 
graciously  received  at  the  lawyer's ;  for  Mrs.  Gomery,  when 
awakened  by  the  servant,  and  told  the  object  of  this  early 
visit,  was  very  indignant,  and  sent  back  word  that  the  Gomerys 
and  Mackenzies  were  never  mistaken  for  other  people.  The 
servant  softened  the  message  returned,  so  that  poor  Dorcas 
still  had  her  doubts,  and  insisted  on  seeing  the  child  that 
Mrs.  Gomery  had  brought  home.  This  request  being  com- 
municated to  Mrs.  Gomery,  the  flames  of  offended  pride  that 
had  been  smothered  for  many  years ' —  ever  since  the  scene 
with  Eliza  Thurston  —  broke  out  with  terrible  fury.  Hastily 
dressing  herself,  she  went  into  the  family  kitchen,  where  a 
good  fire  was  burning,  and  the  servant  was  staring  in  stupid 
wonderment,  first  at  Homer,  who  stood  hat  in  hand,  and  then 
at  the  pretty,  spiteful  little  virago  at  his  side.  Aunt  Hannah, 
or  Goody  Wales,  stood  looking  on  in  wonder.  This  old  lady, 
with  her  husband  Tench,  had  gone  up  to  the  Pivot  on  the 
evening  before  ;  and  as  Mrs.  Gomery  was  going  to  the  ball, 
and  must  take  her  faithful  Prudence  with  her,  Aunt  Hannah 
was  prevailed  on  to  stop  till  morning,  and  serve  in  the  dou- 
ble capacity  of  housekeeper  and  watchman. 

No  sooner  did  the  wretched,  anxious  mother  cast  her  eyes 
on  Mrs.  Gomery  than  she  began,  "  Oh !  we  have  lost  our 
baby.  We  carried  away  the  wrong  one  from  the  ball :  that 
wicked  old  Joe  Pumpagin  changed  them,  and  somebody  else 
took  our  sweet  darling,  that  had  never  got  a  name ;  and  I 
thought  it  must  surely  be  up  here,  for  it  looked  so  much  like 
your  little  Walter." 

"  What ! "  said  the  proud  woman,  drawing  herself  up  in 
indignation,  her  eyes  flashing  fire.  "  Your  child  look  like 
mine !  —  look  like  a  Gomery  !  Prudence,  bring  out  Walter ! " 
The  waiting-woman  left,  and  directly  returned  with  the  child 
in  her  arms. 

"  Look  at  that,  you  impudent  thing !  Do  you  pretend  to 
compare  your  sniffling  young  one  to  that  ?  See  the  forehead, 
the  eyes,  the  mouth!  There  is  more  character  in  those  big, 
close-set,  firm  lips  than  in  all  the  Homers  ever  born  since  the 
old  blind  one  peddled  songs  for  a  living ! "  Whew !  here 
was  an  exhibition  of  pride  and  self-importance,  —  a  conceited 


172  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

woman  flying  in  a  passion  because  her  boy  was  compared  to 
a  Homer;  for  an  old  Homer,  she  had  heard,  had  begged  his^ 
bread  through  seven  cities !     Probably  she  had  not  read  the 
"  Odyssey  "  in  the  original. 

Poor  Dorcas  could  not  oppose  a  word,  nor  stand  an  instant, 
against  this  withering  scorn,  but,  bursting  into  tears,  meekly 
retired  more  miserable  than  ever.  Mrs.  Gomery  repented  of 
her  harsh  words  as  soon  as  uttered;  for  who  could  blame  this 
breaking  heart  ?  She  followed  the  stricken  soul  out  of  doors, 
and  told  her  she  did  not  mean  any  thing  unkind,  and 
attempted  to  console  her.  But  the  poor  crushed  spirit  never 
heeded  her.  She  sobbed  as  if  her  last  hope  were  gone; 
and  Aunt  Hannah  Wales  remarked  at  the  cruel  words,  as 
the  sleigh  drove  away,  "When  your  heart  is  breaking  in 
anxiety  for  your  boy,  you  will  remember  this." 

At  these  words,  Mrs.  Gomery  started  back.  The  blood 
fled  from  her  flushed  cheeks,  and  they  turned  pale  and  white 
as  the  snow  at  her  feet.  She  stood  unmoved  as  a  statue  for 
a  few  moments,  as  if  there  had  been  a  power  in  the  words  to 
transform  her.  "  Your  heart  breaking  in  anxiety  for  your 
boy"  continued  ringing  in  her  ears  after  Homer  and  his  wife 
had  passed  out  of  her  sight.  "Anxiety  for  my  boy,"  said 
she  half  aloud.  Then  she  gave  a  sort  of  hollow  laugh  ;  and, 
at  the  instant,  Prudence  was  at  her  side,  who,  as  she  looked 
in  her  mistress's  face,  was  startled  at  the  strange,  wild  look  it 
presented.  "  You  will  catch  your  death  a  cold,"  said  she, 
taking  her  by  the  arm  :  "  let  us  go  in ! "  The  proud  woman 
suffered  herself  to  be  led  passively  into  the  house.  She  sat 
down  by  the  fire,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  words  spoken 
by  Aunt  Hannah  Wales  had  a  dreadful  portent.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  her  before  as  one  of  the  things  possible,  that 
either  of  her  children  could  ever  give  occasion  for  heart- 
breaking anxiety.  Was  not  her  husband,  of  all  men,  the 
noblest,  most  honorable  and  sagacious?  Was  not  she  the 
daughter  of  the  good,  just,  and  eminent  Judge  Macken- 
zie, of  whom  all  people  said  he  was  not  only  the  most  impar- 
tial of  judges,  but  the  best  of  men  ?  Had  they  not  implanted 
in  the  minds  of  all  their  children  the  most  exalted  ideas  of 
virtue  and  industry?  and  would  they  not  do  the  same  by 
this  one,  the  youngest,  now  asleep  in  the  cradle  ?  How,  then, 
could  those  words  ever  come  true  ? 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  "  said  Prudence,  observ- 
ing the  still  abstracted  manner  of  her  mistress. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  173 

"  I  was  thinking  if  it  were  possible  that  sorrow  and  grief 
could  be  the  lot  of  those  who  are  brought  up  in  the  way  of 
truth  and  virtue." 

"  We  read  of  One  that  was  without  sin,  and  yet  wicked 
men  put  him  to  death." 

"We  do,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Gomery;  and  now,  for  the 
first  time  during  the  twenty  years  she  had  lived  with  her,  the 
faithful  Prudence  saw  the  tears  flowing  freely  down  her 
cheeks.  • 

When  Mrs.  Diller  entered  the  room  with  the  right  baby, 
there  was  a  scene,  it  may  well  be  believed.  But  it  was  a 
scene  I  have  no  taste  for  describing.  I  would  not  do  it  if 
my  pen  had  a  diamond  point,  and  would  cut  through  the 
film  of  word-description,  and  present  it,  as  in  a  mirror,  to 
the  bodily  sight.  It  must  suffice  that  the  child  was  found, 
and  the  father  and  mother  left  with  it  for  their  home. 

This  was  only  one  of  the  several  denouemetits  of  the  dia- 
bolically clever  plot  of  Old  Joe.  The  others  were  some  of 
them  so  ridiculous,  that  I  approach  the  narrative  with  a  cau- 
tious pen.  By  telling  so  much  of  this  singular  story,  I  have 
got  into  serious  danger  :  I  must  tell  the  whole  tale,  and 
what  came  of  it.  Let  my  reader  imagine  the  difficulty  of 
narrating,  without  offending  the  fastidious,  severe  taste  of  any, 
how  the  discoveries  were  effected  which  he  already  foresees 
must  soon  be  made.  How  is  it  possible  to  relate  the  manner 
in  which  one  fond  mother  discovered  in  the  morning  that  a 
metamorphosis  had  taken  place  in  the  night,  and  the  boy  of 
yesterday  was  changed  into  a  girl  ?  My  vagrant  pen  has  led 
me  into  this  quite  against  my  will.  It  has  much  to  answer 
for. 

Among  the  attendants  at  the  ball,  we  have  already  seen, 
were  several  couples  from  the  neighboring  towns  of  Tiver- 
net  and  Bridgeville,  which  were  situate  in  nearly  opposite 
directions  from  Montgomery.  From  each  of  these  places 
one  couple  had  come,  bringing  one  of  the  doomed  infants. 
In  one  case  the  husband,  and  in  the  other  the  wife,  was  a 
native  of  Montgomery ;  and  both  couples  had  eaten  their 
Thanksgiving-dinner  in  town  with  their  parents.  Unfortu- 
nately, these  two  babies  had  been  exchanged,  the  one  for  the 
other,  by  the  remorseless  Joe;  and  what  made  the  act  more 
atrocious  still,  was  the  fact  that  one  was  a  boy,  and  the  other 

15* 


174  G0MERY    OJF    MONTGOMERY  : 

a  girl.  The  latter  was  the  offspring  of  Reuben  Chandler, 
who  had  married  Emeline  Spinney,  the  daughter  of  the 
doubter,  a  year  and  a  half  before,  and  taken  her  to  his  home 
in  the  village  of  Bridgeville,  where  he  was  doing  a  thriving 
business,  —  selling  coffee,  tea,  molasses,  teacups,  pepper,  gin- 
ger, new  rum,  tobacco,  and  the  usual  groceries,  gimcracks, 
and  kickshaws  that  make  up  the  assortment  of  a  small 
country  store.  The  other  was  the  child  of  Josiah  Gibson,  a 
native  of  Montgomery,  and  son  of»  Levi  Gibson,  who  lived 
in  the  village,  and  carried  on  the  business  of  tanner  and  cur- 
rier. His  son  had  learned  his  father's  trade,  and  had  com- 
menced the  same  business  in  Tivernet. 

Reuben  and  his  wife  did  not  reach  home  till  near  day- 
light ;  and  then  both  of  them  were  so  sleepy  and  exhausted, 
that,  as  soon  as  they  could  warm  their  feet  at  the  large  pile 
of  smouldering  embers  in  the  fireplace,  they  retired ;  and  the 
baby  was  scarcely  looked  at  by  the  weary  mother,  who 
placed  it  in  bed  by  the  side  of  her  servant-girl,  a  poor,  sim- 
ple-minded pauper  about  fourteen  years  old,  whose  scope 
of  mind  will  appear  from  the  physiological  and  scientific 
discoveries  about  to  be  made. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  the  sun  was  just 
rising,  when  this  girl,  whose  name  was  Adeline,  was  called  to, 
from  the  sleeping-room  of  her  master  and  mistress,  to  get  up 
and  build  the  fire.  She,  too,  had  been  to  a  Thanksgiving- 
party  of  young  folks  the  night  before,  and  had,,  played 
"  Hunt  the  Squirrel,"  "  Puss  in  the  Corner,"  "  Button,  Button, 
who's  got  the  Button  ?  "  and  other  games,  till  it  was  past  her 
usual  bed-time.  So  she  was  oversleeping  herself;  and,  when 
she  heard  the  master  call,  she  hastily  dressed  herself,  and 
soon  had  a  roaring  fire  in  the  kitchen.  She  then  brought 
out  the  baby,  who  was  squalling  lustily ;  and  her  mistress 
called  out  to  her  to  change  its  clothes,  and  carry  it  to  her. 

"  Why,  baby,  how  your  hair  has  growed ! "  said  she  :  "  how 
funny!  when  muzzer  trimmed  it  so  pooty  yesterday;  and 
what  a  funny  little  nosey !  Ah,  it  is  a  boy ! "  exclaimed  she 
in  astonishment :  "  who'd  a  thought  a  girl  would  grow  into  a 
boy  in  one  night  ?  Well,  I  never !  I  guess  Master  Reuben 
will  be  proper  glad;  for  he  said  he  wished  it  had  been  a 
boy."  So,  in  her  glee,  she  ran  to  the  door,  and  called  out  to 
the  parents  that  the  baby  wasn't  "  a  girl  no  more,  but  a  boy, 
and  so  pooty !  " 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  175 

I  pass  over  the  next  half-hour  at  this  house. 

At  the  end  of  this  time,  a  conclave  of  neighbors  have 
assembled,  and  are  consulting  over  the  extraordinary  event. 
Poor  Emeline  was  vexed  that  she  had  not  shown  more  ma- 
ternal sagacity  than  to  have  brought  another  woman's  child 
so  far,  and  kept  it  so  long,  without  discovering  the  mistake. 
She  recollected  the  super-serviceable  conduct  of  Joe  Pum- 
pagin  the  night  before ;  and  it  was  clear  to  her,  that  when 
he  was  flattering  her  wfth  soft  words,  telling  her  that  hers 
was  the  finest  baby  at  the  ball,  and  looked  just  like  its  moth- 
er ;  and  begging  her  to  name  it  Nancy,  after  a  dear  sister  of 
his  that  died  in  the  poor-house ;  and  promising  to  give  it  a 
present,  at  its  next  birthday,  of  ten  and  sixpence  or  two  dol- 
lars (enough  to  buy  two  sheep,  that,  being  put  out,  would 
increase  to  a  nice  little  flock  by  the  time  she,  was  old  enough 
to  get  married,  which  would  be  a  nice  thing  for  her  husband)  ; 
and  she  had  half  promised  to  call  the  child  Nancy,  —  it 
was  clear  to  her  he  was,  at  the  very  time,  carrying  out  his 
horrid  treachery.  The  whole  story  was  told  to  the  assembled 
neighbors.  All  sympathized  with  the  afflicted  parents ;  but, 
while  some  accepted  their  explanation,  others  regarded  it  in 
a  different  light. 

" It  is  a  mericle,"  said  Deacon  Stover,  —  "a  mericle,  and  is 
marvellous  in  our  eyes." 

"  A  fiddlestick ! "  exclaimed  the  indignant  mother.  "  Don't 
you  see  it  ain't  our  baby  at  all  ?  Whose  is  it  ?  Oh !  it  must 
be  Squire  Gomery's  wife's,  for  I  couldn't  mistake  nobody 
else's  baby  for  mine ;  and  as  she  left  before  we  did,  seem' 
as  how  they  are  so  much  alike,  she  probably  took  lit- 
tle"— 

"  Nancy,"  suggested  Deacon  Stover. 

"It  ain't  Nancy,  nuther..  It's  Harriet.  Goin' to  the  ball, 
Reuben  and  I  agreed  to  call  it  Harriet,  after  his  sister  who 
died,  when  she  was  four  years  old,  of  the  canker-rash." 

"But  it's  a  boy;  and  my  'pinion  is,  that  it  is  the  same 
child,  and  has  been  changed  by  a  mericle." 

"  It  ain*t  a  bit  like  mine." 

"  No,  if  it's  a  Gomery  it  ain't,  I  am  sure,"  said  Stover,  who 
was  yet  firm  in  the  belief  that  it  was  her  own  child. 

There  was  one  other  person  besides  Deacon  Stover  who 
maintained  it  was  the  same  baby,  and  had  been  metamor- 
phosed by  some  strange  process  not  understood  except  by 


176  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

the  doctors.  This  was  Silas  Johnson,  a  house-carpenter,  who 
took  the  deacon  aside,  and  told  him  he  was  going  over  to 
Montgomery  that  morning,  and,  if  he  would  go  with  him, 
they  would  call  on  Dr.  Purkitt,  and  get  his  opinion  on  the 
case.  "  Perhaps,"  said  Johnson,  "  he  could  change  it  back, 
and  make  it  the  same  as  before." 

The  deacon  assented ;  and,  as  soon  as  Johnson  could  get 
his  horse  and  sleigh  ready,  the  two  men,  in  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge under  strange  circumstances,  set  forth  to  consult  the 
learned  doctor. 

They  were  followed  soon  after  by  Reuben  and  his  wife 
with  the  child.  The  latter  party  went  directly  to  Diller's 
Tavern,  as  the  place  where  they  would  be  most  likely  to  hear 
of  lost  heirs.  They  were  naturally  anxious  to  recover  their 
own  lost  treasure ;  but,  perceiving  and  appreciating  the  trick 
that  had  been  played  upon  them,  they  did  not  doubt  but  it 
would  be  well  taken  care  of  in  the  same  manner  as  they 
had  taken  care  of  the  unknown  one.  They  drove  up  to  the 
tavern,  around  which,  thus  early,  was  collected  a  considera- 
ble crowd ;  for  by  this  time  the  story  of  Old  Joe's  pranks 
was  known  at  every  house  within  a  radius  of  two  miles 
from  the  village.  There  was  much  curiosity  manifested  by 
the  crowd,  when  the  sleigh  drove  up,  to  know  if  the  child 
of  Josiah  Gibson  of  Tivernet  had  been  brought  back.  Josiah 
and  his  wife  had  arrived  about  twenty  minutes  before ;  and 
when  no  one  present  could  give  any  information  regarding 
his  missing  boy-baby,  and  no  one  was  present  to  claim  the 
girl  he  had  brought  back,  Reuben  and  his  wife  entered  the 
parlor  of  the  Eagle,  the  latter  carrying  the  child,  that  was  now 
quietly  asleep.  They  saw  the  room  full  of  the  women  of  the 
village,  all  looking  serious  and  sad  as  if  at  a  funeral.  Josiah 
Gibson  sat  near  the  fire,  holding  their  child  in  his  arms,  while 
his  wife  sat  sobbing  beside  him.  As  soon  as  she  saw  Emeline, 
having  a  child  in  her  arms,  enter,  she  rushed  towards  her; 
and,  finding  it  was  indeed  her  own  darling,  she  clutched  it 
from  her,  and  ran  away  to  the  corner  of  the  room,  and 
hugged  and  kissed  it  till  the  baby  roared  out  an  infantile 
protest.  Emeline  also  caught  up  her  own  baby ;  and,  though 
less  demonstrative,  the  tears  in  her  eyes  told  of  a  mother's 
joy.  All  the  other  changes  had  been  made  before,  as  the 
parties  lived  near  the  village ;  and  being  familiar  with  each 
other,  and  all  the  children  of  the  neighborhood,  the  anxious 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  177 

parents,  on  finding  whose  child  had  been  substituted  for 
their  own,  exchanged  with  comparatively  little  emotion 
or  excitement.  No  one  among  these  thrifty  people  thought 
of  requiring  boot  when  asked  to  trade  back, —  a  thing  never 
known  before  in  any  trade  in  that  part  of  the  country. 

Silas  Johnson  and  Deacon  Stover,  instead  of  going  to  the 
tavern,  as  everybody  else  did,  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery, 
went  directly  to  the  house  of  Dr.  Purkitt;  and  I  should  be 
guilty  of  infidelity  to  the  truth  of  vital  history  if  I  did  not 
here  give  a  full  and  faithful  account  of  the  interview  that 
took  place  between  these  three  philosophers. 

They  entered  the  house  of  the  learned  physician,  each  one 
of  them  with  so  serious  a  look,  that  the  doctor's  wife  had  no 
doubt  they  had  come  with  the  mournful  story  that  a  patient 
had  died,  and  his  services  would  be  no  longer  needed.  They 
were  at  once  shown  into  the  presence  of  the  wise  man ; 
when,  without  stopping  for  preliminaries,  Silas  began  in  a 
manner  all  his  own,  making  that  use  of  the  English  lan- 
guage which  had  given  him  a  celebrity  in  that  part  of  the 
country  as  the  mortal  foe  of  Dr.  Johnson  and  Noah  Web- 
ster. 

"  Doctor,"  said  he,  "  we  come  to  you  on  an  affair  of  great 
approbation,  and  puny  importance,  and  auspicious  difference. 
It  is  not  any  thing  affecting  our  fiscal  health ;  and  we  don't 
want  to  pay  for't.  But  as  friends  of  science  and  religion, 
anc1  men  of  function  and  good  moral  obligations,  and  fathers 
of  families,  we  want  to  ask  your  advice  and  opinions ;  and 
if,  at  the  same  time,  you  could  tell  me  what  to  do  for  my 
oldest  boy,  that  is  poorly,  and  not  charge  nothing  for  it, 
Deacon  Stover  says  you  will  get  paid  in  that  kingdom  where 
neither  thieves  nor  rust  doth  corrupt,  nor  moths  break 
through  and  steal,  'specially  if  you  tell  him  also  how  to  cure 
his  wife's  cough." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  doctor,  who,  sitting  in  his  little 
dingy  room  which  he  called  his  office,  was  reading  at  the 
moment  of  their  entrance,  spectacles  on  nose,  the  "Adventures 
of  Peter  Wilkins,"  —  "  well,  well,  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Doctor  Purkitt  was  a  man  of  sixty,  portly  and  bald ;  and 
partly  from  fear  of  medicine,  and  more  from  ignorance  of  it, 
had  never  given  but  little  to  his  patients,  and  hence  had  been 
wonderfully  successful  as  a  practitioner.  His  face  was  a  liv- 
ing contradiction  j  for  no  man  could  be  so  wise  as  he  looked. 


178  G0MERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

Pushing  back  the  spectacles  on  his  ample  forehead,  he  sat 
squarely  before  the  fire,  a  hand  on  each  knee.  His  teeth 
were  so  set  as  to  give  his  lips  their  appearance  of  greatest 
wisdom ;  which,  even  when  shut,  seemed  to  say,  that,  as 
soon  as  opened,  words  of  weight  and  wisdom  must  come 
forth.  The  two  callers  did  not  doubt  that  the  knotty  ques- 
tion they  had  to  submit  to  him  would  be  solved  without 
hesitation. 

During  the  drive  from  Bridge ville  to  Montgomery,  John- 
son and  Stover  had  discussed  with  characteristic  language 
and  logic  the  remarkable  event  that  had  occurred.  Both 
believed  that  a  boy  had  been  metamorphosed  into  a  girl. 
The  latter  thought  it  "a  mericle ;"  but  Johnson  said  "mericles 
did  not  happen  in  these  wicked  and  ungenerate  times; 
and  if  it  is  a  mericle,"  added  he,  "  what  is  the  use  of  going 
to  see  Dr.  Purkitt  about  it?  He  don't  know  nothin'  about 
mericles.  He  don't  never  cure  nobody  by  power  of 
grace,  but  is  always  givin'  pills  and  rhubarb  and  calomel. 
He  knows  an  awful  sight  about  them  things.  I  have  heard 
him  talk  of  medicine  and  mattery  medicum,  so  that  I 
couldn't  understand  a  thing  about  it;  and  you  know  I'm  not 
a  niggorant  man.  I  have  read  a  great  deal ;  and  if  I  don't 
misremember,  in  some  of  the  books  of  unheard-of  countries 
that  I  have  examined,  such  things  are  said  to  be  quite  com- 
mon, and  in  the  nat'ral  course."  Both  of  them  being  thus 
convinced  that  the  child  they  had  seen  in  Reuben  Chand- 
ler's house  was  his  own,  and  had  been  changed  from  a  boy 
to  a  girl,  it  was  not  thought  necessary,  in  stating  the  case 
to  Galen,  to  make  any  allusion  to  the  ball,  or  to  the  possibil- 
ity that  an  exchange  had  there  been  made.  The  mother's 
indignant  rebuke  of  such  a  suggestion  was  not  mentioned. 

"A  most  remarkable  case,"  said  the  deacon,  —  "a  mericle, 
probably ;  though  Mr.  Johnson  says  such  things  is  common  in 
some  countries." 

"  Well,"  says  the  doctor,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  know  Reuben  Chandler,  that  married  Emeline  Spin- 
ney?" 

"Yes:  I  was  out  there  when  their  child  was  born." 

"It  is  the  same  child!    You  remember  it  was  a  girl?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so ;  but  I  a'most  forget,  I  have  so  many  of 
these  things." 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  girl  last  night ;  and  this  mornin',  when  they 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  179 

took  it  up  to  dress  it,  it  was  a  boy.  It  had  been  changed  in 
the  night.    Ain't  it  a  mericle  ?  " 

Doctor  Purkitt  was  never  known  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 
Whatever  the  case  might  be,  he  assumed  and  appeared  to 
know  all  about  it.  A  case  like  this,  the  facts  being  unques- 
tioned, would  have  astonished  most  men.  Not  so  Dr.  Purkitt. 
If  he  had  not  seen,  he  had  always  read  of,  similar  cases  to 
those  submitted  to  him,  and  poured  a  flood  of  light  on  them 
that  so  dazzled  the  listeners,  that  they  at  once  knew  it  was 
because  of  their  own  ignorance  that  they  could  not  understand 
all  about  it.  His  first  reply  was  one  that  would  have  done 
no  discredit  to  Mr.  Bunsby ;  for  he  said,  "  It  was  a  case  ac- 
cording to  the  laws  of  Nature,  or  else  it  was  of  a  supernatu- 
ral character." 

"  It  couldn't  happen  unless  it  was  a  mericle,"  said  Stover. 

"  Oh,  yes !  such  things  have  been  known  before,  but  very 
rarely.  In  fact,  I  have  never  known  of  more  than  two  or  three 
cases  of  the  kind  in  all  my  practice,  now  going  on  for  more 
than  thirty  years." 

"  Then  it  is  not  a  mericle  ?  " 

"Oh,  no!  such  things  do  happen.  I  have  read  a  good 
deal  about  them  in  the  books.  You  say  the  girl  was  changed 
to  a  boy?" 

"  Yes :  it  was  a  girl  last  night,  and  a  boy  this  morning." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course :  these  changes  are  all  that  way. 
But  boys  never  change  to  girls,  in  the  course  of  nature. 
Had  it  been  that  way,  I  should  certainly  have  allowed  it  was 
a  miracle.  But  this  is  a  mere  odd  occurrence,  a  freak  of  Na- 
ture ;  or,  as  we  say  in  Latin,  a  lusus  natures." 

"  I  thought  likely  that  was  it,"  said  Johnson.  "I  told  the 
deacon,  comin'  down,  you  would  have  some  Latin  or  science 
to  make  it  all  clear  to  us.  A  Lucy  Natury  ?  I  s'pose  it  was 
called  so  because  Lucy  was  changed  to  Nat,  some  time: 
wasn't  it,  doctor?" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  the  doctor,  not  caring  to  be  drawn  into 
a  philological  explanation. 

They  had  got  thus  far  in  the  elucidation  of  the  subject, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  in  came  Levi  Gibson,  father  of 
Josiah,  who,  having  just  heard  of  the  trick  that  had  been 
played  on  his  son  and  grandson,  was  in  a  very  bad  humor 
with  the  world  in  general,  while  another  incident  had  put 
him  in  a  bad  temper  with  the  doctor  in  particular.    Enter- 


180  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

ing  the  doctor's  sanctum  with  a  brusk,  excited  manner,  he 
scarcely  noticed  the  Bridgeville  people,  but  at  once  broke 
forth :  — 

"  Well,  well,  this  is  a  pretty  go !  My  son  Josiah's  baby 
was  changed  last  night." 

"  Changed !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  Very  singular ! 
We  were  just  talking  about  such  a  case  up  at  Bridgeville. 
I  have  known  such  cases  before  in  my  practice.  Of  course, 
it  was  a  girl  changed  to  a  boy." 

"  No :  it  was  a  boy,  and  now  it  is  a  girl." 

"  Very  singular !  —  the  only  similar  case  I  ever  heard  of 
since  the  time  of  Tiresias,  as  related  by  Sydenham,  vol.  iii. 
page  191.  The  case  of  Tiresias  is  well  authenticated.  He 
was  changed  back  and  forth  from  a  man  to  a  woman,  and 
from  a  woman  to  a  man,  several  times.  You  will  find  it  laid 
down  in  all  the  old  books,  which  are  much  more  reliable  than 
those  of  later  times.  Galen,  I  think,  mentions  other  instances 
of  such  changes." 

"  Changes !  what  do  you  mean  ?  My  son's  boy  was  changed 
at  the  ball  last  night  by  that  rascal,  Joe  Pumpagin  :  so  he  car- 
ried home  the  wrong  one.  You  didn't  think  I  was  such  a 
fool  as  to  suppose  there  was  any  other  change,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Gibson,  your  remark  is  a  reflection  on  my  profes- 
sional knowledge  and  character." 

Gibson  was  a  testy,  fiery-tempered  man,  and  in  particularly 
bad  humor  this  morning ;  besides  which,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
he  had  verv  little  respect  for  the  pompous  ways  and  words 
of  Dr.  Purkitt. 

"  I  always  knew  you  were  a  pot-bellied  old  fool  and  pre- 
tender, that  knew  as  much  of  medicine  as  my  dog  knows  of 
law,  or  my  horse  of  divinity;  but  I  did  not  think  you  such  an 
ass  as  to  suppose  my  grandson  could  be  changed  into  a  girl." 

If  a  scowl  could  have  withered  Gibson,  he  would  have 
been  calcined  on  the  spot ;  but,  as  it  couldn't,  he  continued  : 
"  I  come  to  pay  you  for  them  pills  you  sent  up  to  my  daugh- 
ter. Powerful  pills !  one  a  day,  no  more ;  for  they  were  very 
powerful !  She  took  them  for  a  week,  and  got  worse  all  the 
time ;  and  this  morning  her  little  boy,  three  years  old,  got 
hold  of  the  box,  ate  the  whole  on  'em  at  once,  and  they 
hain't  hurt  him  any.  How  much  for  them  pills  ?  I  want  to 
pay  you." 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  181 

"  Leave  my  house ! "  roared  the  doctor,  who  had  been  so 
choked  with  rage,  that,  until  now,  he  could  not  speak. 

Gibson  threw  down  two  coppers  to  show  his  appreciation 
of  the  doctor's  medicines ;  and,  with  the  deacon  and  Silas 
Johnson,  left,  and  went  over  to  the  tavern. 

There  the  conduct  of  Old  Joe  was  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion among  all.  Those  who  had  not  been  sufferers  laughed 
at  the  joke ;  but  some  of  the  others  were  violent  and  angry. 
All  the  soft  nonsense  he  had  talked  to  the  beguiled  and  de- 
ceived mothers  was  repeated.  Tom  Homer,  after  taking  his 
wife  and  the  right  baby  home,  had  returned  on  purpose  to 
wreak  his  vengeance  on  Old  Joe ;  and  the  foolish  fellow,  in 
his  wrath,  told  how  the  smooth-tongued  villain  had  promised 
to  give  his  boy  a  cow  if  they  would  only  call  him  Joseph, 
and  the  rascal  never  had  a  cow,  nor  a  dollar  to  buy  one  with. 
"  He  is  a  swindler,"  said  he ;  "  and  we  must  go  right  up  to 
Square  Gomery's,  and  get  a  warrant,  and  send  the  sheriff 
after  him."  Lewis  Hinson  said,  "  He  had  cheated  his  wife  the 
same  way,  and  promised,  if  they  wouldn't  call  their  boy  Roger 
Sherman,  as  they  had  determined  to  do,  but  Joseph  Pumpa- 
gin,  he  would  leave  him  five  hundred  dollars  in  his  will. 
And  while  he  stood  holding  the  baby,  waiting  for  the  sleigh 
to  come  up,  he  told  my  wife  how  he  had  a  great  estate  com- 
ing to  him  in  a  few  days.  It  was  in  England.  Very  likely 
he  would  be  a  lord  before  he  died ;  for,  he  said,  mighty  big 
fools  were  lords  sometimes." 

By  gifts  like  these,  thickly  coated  with  words  of  flattery  of 
both  mothers  and  children,  Joe  had  got  all  the  mothers  of 
the  boys  to  promise  to  name  their  sons  Joseph,  and  the  moth- 
ers of  the  girls  to  name  their  daughters  Nancy,  after  his 
sister,  who  had  died  in  the  poor-house,  and  who,  had  she 
lived,  would  have  been  a  great  lady,  and  lived  in  a  castle 
when  he  got  his  estate  and  became  a  lord. 

In  the  midst  of  this  conference,  which  was  held  in  the 
large  parlor  of  the  tavern,  and  was  participated  in  by  men 
and  women  alike,  the  old  family  sleigh  of  Squire  Gomery  was 
seen  going  by ;  and  Landlord  Diller  cried  out  to  its  occupant, 
who  was  the  lawyer  himself,  to  call,  as  his  advice  was  wanted. 
So  the  lawyer  reined  up  to  the  door,  and  went  in ;  when  there 
was  a  fresh  narration  of  the  whole  affair,  "  whereof,  by  par- 
cels, he  had  something  heard  "  already. 

The  sufferers  united  in  saying  that  Joe  should  be  pursued 

16 


182  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

by  the  sheriff,  and  brought  back,  and  tried,  and  put  into  the 
county  jail. 

"What  shall  he  be  tried  for?"  asked  the  squire  with 
great  gravity. 

"Burglary,"  said  one. 

"Arson,"  said  another. 

"  Getting  goods  under  false  pretences,"  said  Reuben  Chand- 
ler. 

"  Abduction,"  said  Capt.  Tinkham. 

"  Yes,  seduction,"  said  Silas  Johnson. 

"  As  you  have  agreed  so  well  on  the  offence,  who  is  to  pay 
the  costs  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer.  "  I  can't  take  up  the  case 
unless  I  am  paid  for  it." 

"  Get  it  out  of  Joe,"  said  Tom  Homer. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  lien  on  the  cow?  "  inquired  the  law- 
yer. "  Or  perhaps  Hinson  will  give  me  an  interest  in  the 
will  as  a  fee  ?  But  then  Joe's  promise  was  contingent  on  the 
name  of  the  child.  Of  course,  if  I  take  up  the  case,  you 
will  call  the  boy  Joe,  —  Joe  Pumpagin,  —  else  I  lose  my  fee." 

"I'll  see  him  hanged  first,  and  you  too!"  said  Homer. 
"  The  old  wretch !  He  give  a  cow !  He  make  a  will !  I 
wonder  what  he  has  got  to  will ! " 

"  His  good  name,"  said  the  lawyer ;  "  and  probably  he 
thought  he  might  will  that  Hinson's  child  should  have  five 
hundred  dollars,  whether  he  had  a  dollar  himself  or  not. 
You  must  admit  his  intentions  were  good.  And  then  it  was 
kind  and  thoughtful  in  him  to  remember  his  sister  who  died 
in  the  poor-house.  You  certainly  will  not  disregard  his 
brotherly  affection,"  said  he  to  Chandler.  "You  will,  of 
course,  name  your  girl  Nancy.  Nancy  Pumpagin  Chandler, 
—  Nancy  P.  Chandler,  —  a  very  pretty  name." 

"  You  hateful  old  thing  ! "  screamed  out  Emeline.  "  Do 
you  think  I  would  name  my  child  after  a  pauper  ?  " 

"  But,  then,  if  her  brother  is  a  lord !  " 

"  Come,  let  us  go,"  said  she  to  her  husband  ;  and  the  two 
left  the  room  in  what  the  squire  called  high  dudgeon,  bear- 
ing away  the  yet  nameless  child. 

The  idea  of  pursuing  Joe  was  abandoned;  and  the  injured 
parents  returned  to  their  homes.  Those  who  had  escaped 
Joe's  wicked  arts  remained  for  some  time  either  at  the  tav- 
ern or  Caleb  Thornton's  store,  joking  and  laughing  at  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  183 

trick.  Before  night,  Joe  was  more  popular  than  ever ;  and, 
had  he  returned  that  evening,  he  would  have  been  a  hero. 
But  his  time  went  by.  He  failed  to  take  that  tide  in  his 
affairs  that  leads  on  to  fortune ;  and,  on  the  next  day,  every 
thing  was  as  orderly  and  quiet  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
occurred.     The  ordinary  humdrum  had  settled  on  the  place. 


184  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"Desdemona.    I  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind ; 
And  to  his  honors  and  his  valiant  parts 
Did  I  my  soul  and  fortunes  consecrate."  —  Othello. 

The  annual  Thanksgiving  Day  had  been  the  first  Thurs- 
day in  December;  and,  two  weeks  from  the  succeeding  Sat- 
urday, the  two  daughters  of  Freeborn  Gomery  returned  to 
their  home  from  the  Echester  or  East  Chester  (as  it  had  for- 
merly been  called)  Academy.  In  their  respective  classes,  they 
had  fulfilled  all  of  their  proud  mother's  expectations,  and  car- 
ried off  all  the  prizes  they  had  seriously  contended  for.  The 
New  England  of  that  day,  as  the  New  England  of  to-day, 
boasted  of  many  beautiful  girls;  and  as  the  rule  was  for  all  to 
be  healthy,  rosy,  and  fair,  the  exceptions  who  excelled  the 
generality  were  wonderfully  fair.  And  among  the  excep- 
tions were  still  other  exceptions,  very  limited  in  number, 
whose  exceeding  beauty  was  celebrated  throughout  the  coun- 
try. The  daughters  of  Freeborn  and  Jane  Gomery  were 
such  exceptions.  They  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  wild, 
romping  girls  at  the  town-school,  and  would  slide  down  the 
steepest  hills  with  the  boldest  of  the  boys,  and  hold  a  good 
hand  at  a  snow-balling,  nor  wince  at  a  frozen  shot,  or  cry  out 
that  it  was  unfair  if  it  struck  spank  against  the  ear.  Learn- 
ing with  great  quickness,  and  having  a  mother  at  home  such 
as  no  other  children  of  the  village  had,  they  were  soon  so. 
much  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the  school,  that  they  must  be 
sent  abroad  to  complete  their  education. 

The  two  sons,  besides  the  young  hero  Walter,  who  had  so 
successfully  protested  against  exchange  to  Joe  Pumpagin, 
were  both  younger  than  the  sisters;  and  Theron  was  the 
elder  of  the  two  by  a  year  and  a  half.  The  younger  of  these, 
whose  name  was  Wirtimir  (where  the  name  came  from,  I 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  185 

never  could  learn  after  much  inquiry),  usually  called  Wirt 
for  short,  as  was  said  in  the  vernacular  of  the  times,  was,  at 
the  period  to  which  we  have  now  arrived,  fourteen  years 
of  age.  The  boys  were  not  only  younger  than  the  girls  in 
years,  but  they  developed  later  in  life ;  so  that,  when  the 
younger  sister  was  become  a  belle  of  seventeen,  the  elder  boy, 
Theron,  was  an  awkward  youth  of  fifteen  and  a  half,  that  could 
not  walk  up  the  aisle  of  the  old  church  without  blushing  as 
red  as  a  pippin  at  the  idea  that  everybody  was  looking  at 
him  and  scanning  his  appearance.  In  outward  semblance, 
too,  the  boys  took  after  their  father  rather  than  their  mo- 
ther. They  were  strong,  healthy,  hardy  boys;  rough  and 
ready  at  play,  and  at  their  books  more  apt  than  eager. 
"  Health  is  beauty : "  but  that  remark  must  be  qualified  and 
restricted  within  certain  limits ;  for  when  children  give  the 
most  evidence  of  health  at  the  time  they  are  growing  fast, 
then  they  are  awkward  in  manners  and  uncouth  in  appear- 
ance. On  the  other  hand,  the  sickly,  dainty  boy  or  girl  that 
is  always  ailing,  and  always  petted,  never  knows  the  gawki- 
ness  and  diffidence  of  a  healthy,  modest,  and  natural  transi- 
tion from  childhood  to  youth  or  manhood.  What  is  more 
ungainly  or  unseemly  than  a  fast-growing  boy  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen,  his  coat  —  made  a  short  time  before  —  too  small,  his 
pantaloons  too  short,  his  beard  too  unpronounced  for  the 
unnatural  barbarism  of  the  razor,  and  too  fuzzy  and  colorless 
to  be  clipped  as  beard  or  nursed  as  whiskers?  If  he  wears  a 
coat,  it  is  too  old  for  so  young  and  raw  a  boy ;  if  a  short 
jacket,  it  is  too  young  for  such  an  overgrown  stripling.  Like 
Charles  Lamb's  poor  relation,  "he  is  known  by  his  knock, — 
a  rap  between  familiarity  and  respect.  He  entereth  smiling 
and  embarrassed.  He  holdeth  out  his  hand  to  shake,  and 
drawejih  it  back  again.  He  is  too  humble  for  a  friend,  yet 
taketh  on  him  more  state  than  befits  a  client.  His  memory 
is  unseasonable,  his  compliments  perverse,  his  talk  a  trouble, 
his  stay  pertinacious."  All  this  is  the'transition  youth.  He 
knoweth  not,  when  he  speaks,  whether  he  will  be  rebuffed  as 
presumptuous,  or  sneered  at  as  diffident.  He  must  at  some 
time  pass  the  fence  that  separates  boyhood  from  manhood  ; 
but  it  is  odd,  that,  every  day  during  that  unhappy  period,  he 
will  be  reminded  by  some  that  he  has  passed  it  too  soon, 
and  by  others  that  he  has  too  long  lagged  behind.  Thus  be- 
tween fires  in  front,  and  fires  in  the  rear,  he  will  be  kept  in  a 

16* 


186  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

state  of  perpetual  annoyance  and  distrust,  which  must  con- 
tinue till  the  line  is  so  distinctly  cleared  that  he  may  assume 
the  boldness  of  the  man,  without  fear  of  being  snubbed  for  his 
presumption. 

With  the  transition  girl  it  is  very  different.  She  passes,  as 
it  were,  in  a  single  day,  from  girlhood  to  womanhood.  The 
period  of  her  embarrassment,  and  doubt  of  her  position  and 
place,  is  short;  but  yet  there  is  to  her  such  a  time,  when,  leav- 
ing off  the  playfulness  of  the  child,  she  assumes  the  dignity 
of  the  lady.  She  has  not  learned  what  to  do  with  her  arms, 
that  seem  to  have  grown  out  of  proportion.  She  can  no 
longer  busy  them  with  dolls,  or  hide  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  laugh  when  spoken  to.  So,  in  this  growing,  developing 
period,  —  brief  fortunately  for  her,  —  she  is  awkward,  embar- 
rassed, and  affected.     Surely  this  health  is  not  beauty. 

Though  Freeborn  Gomery  was  a  man  in  easy  circumstances, 
and,  for  that  part  of  the  country,  was  considered  very  wealthy, 
— having  no  idea  that  either  of  his  sons  would  ever  be  re- 
quired to  earn  his  bread  by  manual  labor,  —  yet  he  put  them 
to  work  on  his  farm  during  their  boyhood,  to  inure  and 
harden  them  to  toil  and  endurance.  They  were  required  to 
labor  as  hard  and  perform  as  much  as  the  sons  of  poorer  peo- 
ple whose  earnings  were  needed  for  their  parents'  support. 
The  daughters,  too,  were  taught  all  the  arts  and  secrets  of 
housekeeping;  and,  ere  they  were  sent  to  the  academy,  could 
bake  and  brew,  and  spin  and  weave.  Their  mother  was  in 
all  respects  a  superior  woman,  and  had  the  sagacity  to  see  that 
useful  knowledge  would  not  come  amiss  in  any  station  in  life. 
She  had  never  doubted,  as  we  have  seen  on  two  memorable 
occasions,  that  her  children  would  all  fill  leading  positions  in 
life,  and  that,  in  influence  and  public  regard,  they  would  far 
surpass  those  of  her  two  sisters,  who  had  married  men  of  great 
wealth,  and  who,  at  the  time  she  accepted  Freeborn  Gomery, 
were  astonished  and  mortified  at  her  choice.  Of  the  daugh- 
ters of  Judge  Mackenzie,  she  knew  as  well  as  anybody  else 
that  she  was  far  the  handsomest,  and  had  had  more  magnifi- 
cent offers  than  any  of  them,  among  whom  was  the  Boston 
heir  before  mentioned,  and  a  widower,  —  at  the  time  a  national 
senator,  with  flattering  prospects  of  being  advanced  to  a  much 
higher  position.  Other  people  had  thought  that  her  sisters  had 
made  much  more  eligible  matches  than  she ;  but  she  thought 
far  otherwise.     The  nobility  then  known  in  America  was  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  187 

that  kind  which  she  fancied  she  saw  in  the  shrewd,  honest, 
humorous  Freeborn  Gotnery.  Her  elder  sister,  Catharine, 
had  married  the  only  son  of  a  rich  merchant  of  Philadelphia, 
named  Gilderkin,  who  had  retired  on  a  colossal  fortune,  con- 
sisting mainly  of  mines  of  coal  and  iron,  which  the  son  subse- 
quently inherited,  and  the  care  of  which  had  been  the  busi- 
ness of  his  life.  The  younger  sister,  Margaret,  had  married 
the  son  of  old  Thomas  Fogus  of  New  York;  a  man  who,  be- 
ginning from  nothing,  had  seemed  to  have  been  the  favorite 
of  Mammon;  for  his  investments  always  exceeded  his  calcu- 
lations. After  accumulating  a  small  capital,  he  invested  a 
part  of  it  in  real  estate  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  that  in  a 
few  years  was  worth  ten  times  the  sum  paid  for  it ;  and,  in 
subsequent  purchases,  he  pursued  the  same  policy  of  buying 
land  just  in  advance  of  its  sudden  appreciation  in  value.  His 
only  child,  Thomas  Fogus,  junior,  inherited  much  of  the  old 
man's  business  tact ;  and,  being  of  an  aspiring  disposition,  he 
changed  his  plebeian  name  from  Fogus  to  Fogue.  This 
name  itself  implied  solidity,  wealth,  and  conservatism ;  and 
such  were  the  characteristics  of  young  Thomas.  He  was 
turned  of  thirty  when  he  first  met  Margaret  Mackenzie; 
and,  at  the  time  he  married  her,  the  yearly  income  of  his  fa- 
ther's property,  that  was  soon  to  be  his,  was  nearly  as  much 
as  the  whole  fortune  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery.  And  Gom- 
ery  the  country  attorney  had  married  the  fairest  and  wit- 
tiest of  them  all! 

The  family  residence  of  the  Mackenzies  was  about  two 
miles  from  the  thriving,  puritanic  village  of  Plympton,  and 
at  about  equal  distances  from  Boston  and  New  York.  It 
was  not  on  the  line  of  the  main  road  between  the  two  cities; 
and  it  is  my  impression  that  Boston  was  a  little  nearer  and 
easier  to  reach  of  the  two.  At  any  rate,  the  family  used  to 
visit  there  much  oftener  than  in  the  larger  and  rival  city.  They 
had  more  friends  there;  and  the  judge  was  obliged  to  go  up 
there  at  least  twice  a  year  to  attend  court.  So  it  came  to  pass 
that  Boston  was  the  city  to  which  they  went  for  fashions, 
books,  papers,  and  such  other  things  as  could  not  be  obtained 
at  the  village  near  by. 

To  this  country  residence  came  the  suitors  of  the  three 
belles;  and  their  number  was  large,  and  their  pretensions 
various.  Hither  came  the  village  lawyer  and  the  village 
shopkeepers ;  and  hither,  too,  came  the  demure  parson,  with 


188  GOMEEY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

white  choker  and  intellectual  spectacles.  The  judge's  house 
was  a  great  resort  for  the  young  people  of  the  village ;  for 
the  old  man,  now  a  widower  for  the  last  six  years,  delighted 
to  see  the  younger  folk  enjoy  themselves:  and  his  house  was 
truly  a  happy  place  to  look  in  upon  of  an  evening,  and  a 
most  enjoyable  house  for  all  to  visit,  except  those  who  came 
with  "serious  and  honorable  intentions."  Parson  Skinner, 
who  was  of  this  latter  class,  after  many  and  dolorous  visits, 
in  which  he  had  taken  every  possible  and  improper  opportu- 
nity to  impress  first  on  one  sister,  then  on  another,  and  after- 
wards on  the  third,  the  vanity  of  all  worldly  things,  and  the 
great  advantage  sure  to  accrue  from  giving  up  the  follies  and 
pleasures  of  this  world,  having,  after  two  years'  seeking, 
found  it  impossible  to  propose  to  either,  finally  abandoned 
the  field.  He  was  encouraged  to  this  raising  of  the  siege  by 
the  death  of  one  of  his  richest  parishioners,  who  had  left  a 
widow  with  only  two  children, — both  of  which,  he  told  his 
confidential  deacon,  were  hopefully  sickly;  and  it  would  be  a 
pleasure  to  him  to  minister  to  their  spiritual  wants,  should 
the  Lord  see  fit  to  remove  them  in  childhood  from  the  trials 
and  temptations  of  this  wicked  world. 

I  have  a  great  regard  and  respect  for  that  woman  who  never 
allows  any  man  to  propose  to  her,  except  it  be  the  one  whom 
she  has  resolved  in  her  own  heart  to  accept.  A  woman  of 
any  tact  or  discernment  can*  always  discover  signs  of  an 
approaching  proposal,  can  always  foresee  that  a  plan  of  siege 
is  going  on,  even  though  it  be  not  according  to  the  military 
rules  observed  by  Uncle  Toby  when  he  made  his  famous 
attack  on  the  citadel  of  the  Widow  Wadman's  heart.  Then, 
if  a  man  has  either  sense  or  discretion,  he  is  saved  from  the 
pain  and  mortification  of  a  refusal.  It  is  natural  that  women 
should  delight  in  making  conquests.  They  like  to  see  that 
they  fascinate  and  please  the  other  sex,  and  can  have  them 
at  their  feet  at  a  word  :  but  they  can  see  this  without  a  pro- 
posal, which,  if  refused,  leaves  the  heart-stricken  proposer 
humbled  and  mortified;  and,  without  saying  so  directly, 
they  can  give  him  to  understand,  that,  by  retreat,  he  can 
save  himself  from  the  humiliation  of  rejection  and  defeat. 
But  the  selfishness  and  vanity  that  induce  a  woman  to  lead 
a  man  on  to  a  declaration,  in  order  to  witness  his  discomfit- 
ure and  humiliation,  and  boast  of  it  afterwards,  are  among 
the   wickedest    and    most    detestable   weaknesses    of    the 


A   FAMILY   HISTOEY.  189 

sex.  They  have  the  conscious  triumph  of  adulation  long 
before  this;  and  if  they  have  those  gentle  feelings  that 
befit  a  woman,  that  delicate  sense  of  tact  and  kindness  that 
are  indispensable  to  the  true  lady,  they  gracefully  avoid  the 
subject,  that,  if  pursued,  can  only  lead  to  disappointment, 
and  convey  such  intimations  as  effectually  warn  off  those 
who  are  prone  to  a  bootless  errand.  Few  men  are  like 
Rogers,  the  banker-poet,  who  said  that  he  made  it  a  rule, 
whenever  his  name  was  connected  with  that  of  any  marriage- 
able woman,  to  say  that  he  had  been  refused ;  and,  if  he  did 
say  so  always,  I  doubt  not  there  had  been  one  occasion,  at 
least,  when  the  confession  caused  a  deep  sense  of  sorrow 
and  pain. 

I  have  before  said  that  Jane  Mackenzie  had  had  other  offers 
than  that  of  Freeborn  Gomery ;  and,  after  the  late  digression, 
it  may  be  asked  how  it  was  that  she  allowed  them  to  be 
made.  Had  she  desired  it,  she  might  have  had  scores ;  but 
she  effectually  warned  off  all  such  small  pretenders  as  Par- 
son Skinner  and  Lawyer  Eveleth  of  Middlebury ;  but  when 
deputies  duly  authorized  by  the  Boston  Croesus  and  the 
senator  in  Congress  came  without  notice,  with  formal  pro- 
positions, they  received  what  their  impertinence  deserved,  — 
a  flat  refusal. 

The  style  in  which  the  accepted  suitors  from  the  great  cities 
appeared  at  the  door  of  the  paternal  mansion  showed  plainly 
the  difference  of  their  circumstances  from  that  of  the  country 
lawyer  who  was  to  carry  off  the  belle  of  the  three.  The  came 
in  elegant  carriages,  with  servants  and  outfits,  and  changes  of 
raiment,  equal  in  number  to  those  of  Naaman  when  he  went 
to  consult  Elisha ;  while  he  came  on  horseback,  or  perhaps  in 
the  public  coach,  with  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  containing  his 
extra  linen  and  a  change  of  apparel.  It  so  chanced  that  on 
one  occasion  the  three  suitors  all  arrived  on  the  same  even- 
ing. A  little  before  sunset  might  have  been  seen  a  fine,  open 
carriage,  drawn  by  a  showy  pair  of  gray  nags,  with  two  gen- 
tlemen on  the  back  seat,  and  a  spruce  driver  in  front,  moving 
with  a  quickened  pace  up  to  the  door  of  the  old-fashioned 
mansion  of  Judge  Mackenzie.  They  were  not  unexpected; 
for,  being  the  accepted  suitors  of  the  oldest  and  the  youngest 
daughters,  their  arrival  had  been  previously  announced. 
They  had  hardly  saluted  their  friends,  and  were  yet  looking 
to  the  disposition  of  their  trunks,  when  "  a  solitary  horse- 


190  GOMEEY  OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

man  might  have  been  seen "  winding  his  way  up  the  long 
lane  to  the  house.  His  appearance  was  certainly  less  pre- 
tending than  that  of  his  brothers-in-law  in  posse  ;  and  when 
the  exultant  sisters,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  look- 
ing with  pride  and  satisfaction  at  the  splendid  turn-out  of 
their  lovers,  saw  the  solitary  Freeborn  coining  up  the  lane, 
covered  with  dust,  on  his  stout  old  roadster,  they  turned 
with  a  look  of  mortification  and  pity  to  their  sister,  who 
stood  like  a  queen,  her  eyes  beaming  with  joy  and  love  on 
the  approaching  traveller.  She  caught  the  look  of  her  sis- 
ters, and  fully  understood  it ;  and  away  she  rushed,  and,  meet- 
ing Freeborn  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  she  seized  his 
hand,  and  by  main  force  pulled  him  from  the  horse,  and  gave 
him  a  saluting  kiss  that  rather  shocked  her  sisters,  who  had 
received  their  lovers  in  a  manner  that  would  have  done  credit 
to  the  training  of  a  boarding-school  miss. 

With  exulting  pride  she  led  her  lover  up  to  the  door,  and 
introduced  him  to  the  sprigs  of  city  life ;  and  having  told 
the  servant-boy  to  bring  in  the  saddle-bags,  regardless  of  the 
astonished  and  angry  looks  of  her  two  sisters,  she  showed 
him  up  stairs  to  the  best  of  the  three  rooms  that  had  been 
prepared  for  the  expected  guests.  Here  she  left  him  to  per- 
form his  ablutions  and  deck  himself  in  his  Sunday  garb,  while 
her  sisters  were  getting  through  .the  formalities  of  the  meet- 
ing, and  expressing  their  apologies  for  being  so  unprepared. 
Love  makes  no  apologies,  and  love  wants  none ;  but  these 
two  sisters  were  not  in  love,  but  were  only  making  for  them- 
selves most  splendid  matches.  Hence,  though  this  day  had 
long  been  looked  forward  to  as  the  happy  day  of  the  lovers' 
arrival,  and  they  had  been  watching  for  good  two  hours  for 
their  appearance,  they  thought  it  better  to  pretend  want  of 
preparation. 

In  due  time  the  table  was  laid  for  the  hungry  and  welcome 
guests ;  and  you  may  be  sure  the  best  the  house  could  afford 
was  on  the  board.  With  an  eye  to  the  wants  of  the  hungry 
travellers,  they  had  boiled,  in  the  morning,  two  of  the  fattest 
chickens  in  the  yard,  with  a  square  piece  of  corn-fed  pork, 
and  set  them  away  to  be  eaten  cold.  They  also  had  some 
slices  of  cold  corned-beef  and  cold  neat's  tongue,  and  hop- 
bread  light  and  sweet,  such  as  the  city  beaux  never  saw 
anywhere  else,  and  Freeborn  saw  every  day  at  his  own  home. 
Then  there  were  hot  biscuit,  and  sponge-cake  and  pound- 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  191 

cake,  and  strawberry  preserves,  and  tea  and  coffee,  with 
cream,  rich  and  golden ;  and  all  set  off  with  the  best  china 
and  knives  and  forks,  bought  in  Boston  the  winter  before. 

The  supper  was  disposed  of,  not  without  a  variety  of  con- 
versation, in  which  Freeborn  somehow  took  the  lead  ;  and  it 
would  have  been  plainly  evident  to  an  impartial  observer, 
had  such  been  present,  that  his  was  the  leading  mind  of  the 
company.  When  the  city  sprigs  introduced  into  the  conver- 
sation the  politics  and  literature  of  the  day,  he  showed  a 
readiness  in  discussing  them,  and  an  understanding  of  their 
merits,  that,  while  it  surprised  the  others,  greatly  gladdened 
the  heart  of  one.  But,  when  they  introduced  the  subject  of 
the  amusements  and  fashions  of  the  day,  he  wisely  said 
nothing  on  matters  so  much  above  his  comprehension.  All  of 
the  sisters  saw  the  difference  in  the  scope  and  calibre  of  the 
men ;  and  the  sparkling  and  happy  eyes  of  one  gave  back 
with  interest  the  triumphant  look  that  the  others  had  given 
her  when  the  "solitary  horseman  "  made  his  first  appearance 
in  the  lane. 

In  a  couple  of  days  the  successful  suitors  all  departed  for 
their  respective  homes,  each  well  pleased  with  his  visit ;  for  it 
had  been  decided  by  each  couple  —  and  the  old  judge,  who  had 
returned  from  court  during  their  visit,  had  ratified  the  decision 
—  when  the  important  event  of  their  lives  should  take  place. 
The  first,  that  of  Catharine,  the  oldest  daughter,  was  fixed 
for  the  ensuing  autumn;  that  of  the  youngest,  Margaret, 
in  the  spring;  while  the  marriage  of  Jane  to  Gomery  of 
Montgomery  was  to  be  deferred  some  six  months  later.  As 
it  is  not  within  the  scope  of  this  work  to  follow  the  fortunes 
of  these  city  people  farther  than  may  be  necessary  to  the 
history  of  the  family  fortunes  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery 
and  his  wife,  the  preceding  incidents  have  been  related  only 
to  show  how  it  came  to  pass  that  they  had  so  many  relations 
of  wealth  and  influence  in  the  large  commercial  cities.  At  a 
future  time  we  shall  see,  perhaps,  how  the  family  affairs  were 
affected  by  this  <  ircumstance. 

In  after-years,  on  the  occasion  of  that  good  old  New- 
England  festival,  the  annual  Thanksgiving,  it  was  a  duty 
that  the  old  judge  exacted  from  his  daughters,  that  at 
least  one  of  them  should  return  to  the  old  homestead,  and 
pass  it  with  him.  This  duty  was  always  cheerfully  fulfilled ; 
and  one  year,  at  the  instance  of  the  old  man,  "the  three 


192  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY: 

returned  and  sat  round  the  hearthstone,  each  with  her  hus- 
band and  children,  and  listened  to  the  tremulous  voice  of 
the  aged  patriarch  while  he  read  from  the  same  old  family 
Bible  from  which,  as  children,  they  had  been  wont  to  be  taught 
at  their  mother's  knee.  The  changes  that  had  taken  place 
during  those  few  years,  though  regular  and  in  the  gentle 
course  of  nature,  had » been  great.  The  daughters  had  all 
become  matured  and  thoughtful  women;  and  the  men  who 
had  formerly  come  a- wooing  from  the  large  cities  were  no 
longer  engaged  or  interested  in  the  light  frippery  of  city 
snobs,  but  had  become  shrewd  and  thoughtful  men  of  busi- 
ness. Happy  and  proud  were  the  young  mothers  returning 
to  the  loved  scenes  of  youth,  and  full  of  questions  and  curi- 
osity were  the  younger  folk  to  visit  a  place  of  which  from 
their  infancy  they  had  heard  so  much.  As  in  former  days, 
the  style  of  Gomery's  equipage  but  poorly  comported  with 
that  of  his  rich  brothers-in-law.  It  was  a  plain  covered 
wagon,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  stout  farm-horses,  and  contained 
the  whole  family,  consisting  of  Freeborn,  his  wife,  and  four 
children.  At  first,  when  the  city  matrons  saw  the  homely 
carriage  of  their  sister  draw  up,  they  felt  for  her  a  mingled 
sense  of  humiliation  and  pity ;  but  as  they  looked  into  her 
fresh,  happy  face,  and  saw  nothing  but  pride,  joy,  and  health, 
they  could  see  that  she  needed  or  asked  for  no  one's  pity; 
and  when,  afterwards,  the  children  were  assembled  together 
in  the  parlor,  the  native  superiority  of  her  children  was 
observed  with  a  feeling  near  akin,  it  may  be  presumed,  to 
that  of  Cornelia  when  she  exhibited  her  jewels.  The  two 
daughters  from  the  country  even  then  gave  promise  of  that 
rare  beauty  and  sprightliness  that  in  after-years  were  to  render 
them  the  queens  of  fashion,  and  leaders  of  society,  in  their 
respective  spheres.  The  city  cousins  were  pale  and  pretty; 
the  country  lasses,  blooming  and  beautiful.  The  boys  from 
the  country  were  rough,  boisterous  young  fellows,  clad  in 
strong,  coarse  cloth,  that  would  bear  vigorous  exercise ;  and, 
as  soon  as  they  could  get  away,  they  were  off  among  the 
horses  and  cattle  of  their  grandfather;  and  not  a  little 
shocked  were  their  timid  cousins  to  see  them  mount  the 
horses  bareback,  and  go  scampering  to  the  brook  where  the 
animals  were  accustomed  to  drink.  It  may  and  it  may  not 
have  occurred  to  the  wife  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery  that 
her  lot  was  to  be  envied  above  that  of  her  sisters;  but  it  is 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  193 

certain  her  beautiful  face  always  had  the  look  of  cheerfulness 
and  content.  Time  had  made  less  impression  on  her  than 
on  them,  and  she  retained  more  of  her  youthful  vivacity  and 
activity.  Hers  had  certainly  been  the  happier  life  thus  far; 
and  yet  how  few  were  wise  enough  to  prefer  her  lot  among 
the  rustic  people  of  a  country  village  to  that  of  the  city  ma- 
trons, who  participated  in  all  the  gayety  of  fashionable  life, 
and  had  only  to  express  a  wish,  and,  if  money  could  effect  it, 
it  was  gratified ! 

Freeborn  Gomery  and  his  wife  returned  to  their  home 
in  the  country,  and  for  years  little  occurred  to  vary  the 
tranquillity  of  their  lives.  The  only  incident  of  impor- 
tance was  the  arrival  of  the  third  son,  Walter,  with  whom 
my  readers  made  a  slight  acquaintance  some  time  ago.  But 
at  length  it  became  necessary  to  decide  what  should  be  the 
future  profession  or  occupation  of  the  eldest  of  the  three  sons. 
He  was  nearly  fitted  for  college;  and,  if  he  was  going  there, 
it  was  best  that  he  should  enter  at  the  approaching  com- 
mencement. But  he  had  more  taste  for  business  than  litera- 
ture ;  and  his  mother,  with  quick  intuition,  saw  that,  where- 
as he  would  never  excel  in  letters,  he  had  all  the  qualities 
necessary  to  render  him  a  most  successful  merchant  or  finan- 
cier. Indeed,  he  had  shown  signs  of  over-reaching  ability  far 
less  displeasing  to  his  mother  than  to  his  father. 

Now,  it  happened,  that,  while  this  matter  was  under  dis- 
cussion, the  first  visit  of  Thomas  Fogue  and  his  wife  and  a 
younger  son  to  the  Pivot  was  made.  It  was  in  the  autumn 
of  the  year ;  and  the  excursion  was  made  partly  for  pleasure, 
and  partly  to  improve  the  ailing  condition  of  the  younger 
member  of  the  family.  During  this  visit,  the  subject  of 
Theron's  education  came  up ;  and  his  uncle  proposed  that  he 
should  go  to  New  York,  and  there  learn  the  mysteries  of 
banking  and  finance.  The  capitalist  was  honest  and  sensible 
in  his  advice.  He  said  the  secret  of  success  was  to  know 
and  do  every  thing  thoroughly ;  that  the  boy  must  begin  at 
the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  by  experience,  as  he  ascended, 
learn  the  routine  and  details  of  the  entire  business.  He  must 
accept  of  a  very  humble  position  at  first,  as  it  would  be  his 
duty  to  keep  the  house  in  order,  and  do  all  sorts  of  odds-and- 
ends  jobs  that  might  be  required.  Afterwards,  if  found 
faithful  and  steady,  and  when  he  had  learned  to  write  a 
17 


194  G0MERY   OF  MONTGOMERY  I 

good  hand,  he  would  be  promoted  from  one  step  to  another 
as  fast  as  he  was  fitted^to  perform  its  duties. 

This  proposal  was  submitted  to  Theron ;  and  he  eagerly- 
jumped  at  it,  for  he  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  a  college 
course.  It  was  accordingly  determined,  that,  with  the  opening 
of  the  ensuing  spring,  he  should  go  to  New  York,  and,  under 
the  patronage  of  his  rich  uncle,  learn  the  arts  and  mysteries 
of  financiering. 

The  trials  that  he  passed  through  in  a  strange  city ;  his 
labors;  his  rebuffs  from  his  relations ;  the  sneers  and  insults 
of  city-born  youths  of  his  own  age,  who  jeered  at  his  severe 
ideas,  and  laughed  at  his  country  manners,  — were  all  endured 
manfully;  but,  as  they  were  very  similar  to  those  endured 
by  thousands  and  thousands  of  country  lads  who  go  from 
the  country  into  the  cities  to  better  their  fortunes,  it  is  not 
necessary  to  describe  them  here.  It  is  sufficient  at  this  time 
to  state  that  he  went  forth  an  honest  lad,  determined  to  make 
his  way  in  the  world.  With  a  natural  tact  for  business,  and 
born  of  such  parents  as  Freeborn  Gomery  and  his  wife,  it 
will  be  strange  if  he  does  not  achieve  a  success  far  beyond 
his  youthful  expectations.  But  that  must  be  years  hence ; 
and,  as  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  history  for  some  time 
to  come,  we  will,  if  the  reader  does  not  object,  now  return  to 
the  principal  characters. 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  195 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  What !  art  thou  mad  ?  art  thou  mad  ?    Is  not  the  truth  the 
truth  ?"— Falstaff. 

Two  years  passed  away,  after  the  abrupt  departure  of 
Joe  Pumpagin  from  Montgomery,  before  that  worthy  re- 
turned to  look  after  his  friends  and  namesakes.  By  this 
time  the  anger  of  the  deceived  parents  had  cooled  off;  and 
even  the  injured  mothers,  who  at  first  were  so  wildly  furi- 
ous, admitted  that  it  was  a  good  joke  which  he  had  played 
them.  Yet,  as  the  presents  that  he  had  promised  to  the  little 
darlings  had  never  been  forthcoming,  the  names  given  them 
by  him  had  not  been  retained.  This  time,  Joe  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  very  different  trim  from  what  had  been  his  wont 
on  former  occasions.  He  had  usually  come  trudging  into  the 
village  tired,  footsore,  dusty,  and  ragged ;  and  it  was  only 
after  he  had  visited  his  old  friend  Tench  Wales,  to  divide  with 
him.  his  scanty  wardrobe,  that  he  ventured  to  show  himself 
about  the  village,  and  relate  his  wonderful  adventures,  and 
set  the  old  people  to  doubting,  and  the  young  ones  to  mar- 
velling, at  the  strange  stories  he  told. 

On  this  occasion,  Joe  returned  in  the  depth  of  winter  (it 
being  the  last  day  of  December  when  the  stage  drove  up  to 
the  door  of  the  Eagle),  and  was  met  as  usual  by  little  Diller 
himself,  who  came  running  to  the  door.  Pushing  back  the 
curtains  of  the  covered  sleigh,  he  saw  that  there  was  but 
one  passenger,  and  that  was  his  old  customer,  Joe  Pumpagin. 
He  hardly  knew  whether  to  feel  glad  or  sorry  at  the  appear- 
ance of  this  doubtful  advantage  to  his  house.  Yet  he 
was  so  in  the  habit  of  welcoming  everybody  with  cordial 
words,  that  it  is  doubtful,  if  the  Devil  himself  had  driven  up 
to  the  door,  and  the  first  foot  put  from  the  carriage  had  been 
cloven,  whether  he  would  not  have  helped  him  out  with 
great  politeness,  and  said  he  was  glad  to  see  him,  that  he 


196  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY! 

should  be  proud  of  the  honor  of  attending  to  his  wants,  and 
that  his  wife  knew  how  to  set  the  best  table  and  keep  the 
best  tavern  between  Boston  and  Canada.  Such  was  the  wel- 
come that  from  habit  he  gave  to  Joe  Pumpagin ;  and  the 
weary  traveller  stepped  from  the  sleigh  to  the  house,  direct- 
ing that  his  baggage  should  be  brought  in.  Several  old  vet- 
erans of  the  place,  who  had  known  Joe  well  in  former  times, 
were  seated  in  the  bar-room  at  the  time  he  entered,  smoking 
their  pipes,  and  discussing  the  late  peace.  But  they  hardly 
knew  him,  he  looked  so  spruce  and  well-to-do.  Instead  of 
the  rusty  garments  of  former  times,  he  had  on  an  overcoat  of 
stout  yet  fine  beaver-cloth,  with  a  fine  fur  collar,  a  fur  cap, 
and  a  pair  of  fur  mittens.  His  boots  were  new,  thick,  and 
warm;  and  his  red  nose  peeped  through  the  upturned  collar, 
while  farther  back  his  merry  eyes  twinkled  expressively  as  he 
witnessed  the  surprise  depicted  on  the  faces  of  his  old  ac- 
quaintances at  his  unusual  as  well  as  unexpected  appearance. 

His  old  enemy,  Spinney  the  doubter,  was  the  first  to 
recognize  him,  and  exclaimed,  "  It's  Joe  Pumpagin,  by  the  liv- 
ing hokey  !     How  are  you,  truthful  Joseph  ?  " 

"Well  and  hearty,"  said  Joe,  extending  his  hand  first  to 
Spinney,  and  then  to  all  the  others.  "  Never  better.  Had 
great  luck  this  time.  Seen  strange  sights.  Have  seen  the 
Devil  sure  enough,  and  had  a  fight  with  him,  and  am  none 
the  worse  for  it.  Money  enough.  Look  a-here!  I  never 
used  to  wear  such  clothes  as  these.  I  told  you  I'd  come 
back  by  and  by,  and  show  you  I  was  no  impostor  or  story- 
teller; but  you  didn't  believe  me.  Here  is  Spinney,  an  un- 
convarted  sinner,  though  he  pretended  convarsion ;  but  he 
shall  have  his  part  with  the  hypocrites  and  unbelievers.  I 
have  just  come  back  here  for  a  few  days  to  take  a  look  at  my 
namesakes,  and  see  how  their  mothers  get  on.  By  the  way, 
Homer,  how  is  my  godson  ?  Of  course  you  called  him  after 
Old  Joe." 

"I'd  sooner  'ave  named  him  the  Devil ! "  said  Homer,  net- 
tled at  the  question,  and  more  nettled  at  the  shout  it  had 
provoked. 

"  All  right,"  said  Joe.  "  If  you  prefer  to  name  him  after 
some  of  his  relations,  instead  of  me,  it's  no  affair  of  mine. 
What  is  his  name,  if  not  Joe?" 

"  Obededom." 

"  Obed-e-dom,  —  Obededom    Homer.     Well,  I  can't  say 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  197 

but  it  was  a  scurvy  trick  I  played  him.  But  no  matter  for 
that  now.  Let  us  have  something  warm.  Come,  boys,  what 
will  you  all  take  ?  " 

Diller  heard  this  proposition  with  fear  and  trembling. 
"Perhaps,"  thought  he,  "he  can  pay  the  old  bill  now  ;  and,  if 
can't,  he  never  can  ;  and  it  is  as  well  to  stop  it  from  grow- 
ing any  larger  first  as  last.  —  Mr.  Joe,"  said  he  timidly,  "  be- 
fore we  open  another  account,  I  guess  we'd  better  settle  up 
the  old  one.  Here  it  is,  scored  down  on  the  wall  inside  the 
bar  just  after  you  left;  and  you  can  see  it  for  yourself.  c  Joe 
Pumpagin,  Dr.  to  Artemus  Diller,  $21.37  1-2  cts.'  " 

"  That  all  ?  Well,  here,  count  it  out,"  said  he,  giving  him 
a  bag  of  coin  weighing  at  least  two  pounds.  "  Take  your 
pay." 

Diller  took  the  bag,  and,  thrusting  in  his  hand,  pulled  out 
a  handful  of  gold  and  silver,  the  gold  predominating.  The 
others  gathered  round  in  surprise;  while  Joe,  who  had  lit  his 
pipe,  sat  smoking  by  the  fire  in  apparent  unconcern. 

The  host  of  the  Eagle  counted  out  the  amount  of  his  own 
demand,  and  from  such  coin  as  he  knew  the  value  of;  for 
the  most  of  it  was  of  strange,  outlandish  dies  such  as  he  had 
never  seen  before.  Giving  back  the  purse  to  the  owner,  he 
said,  "Mr.  Pumpagin,"  —  he  had  never  been  known  to  dig- 
nify him  before  by  any  title  but  Joe,  or  Old  Joe,  —  "I  have 
got  some  good  Jamaica,  good  New-England,  first-rate  Santa 
Cruz,  and  some  stunnin'  brandy." 

"  Well,  it's  my  treat.  Give  the  boys  all  they  want,  and  the 
best  you  have  got." 

"Philemon,"  says  Diller  to  a  tall,  raw  youth,  who  was  serv- 
ing at  the  Eagle  in  the  treble  capacity  of  stable-boy,  errand- 
boy,  and  butt  for  everybody  to  scold  at,  —  "  Philemon,  bring 
in  some  hot  water.  Perhaps  Joe  —  Mr.  Pumpagin  —  would 
like  suthin'  warm,  as  he  has  been  ridin'  all  day,  and  it  is  a 
proper  cold  night." 

"Yes:  get  us  a  big  pitcher  of  flip, — hot  flip.  Put  in 
plenty  of  nutmeg,  and  be  sure  you  make  it  strong." 

"It  shall  be  done,  Mr.  Pumpagin,"  said  Diller;  "though 
there  hain't  been  a  mug  of  flip  made  in  this  house,  now  it's 
more  than  two  year  ago,  since  you  left.  But  the  old  flip-dog 
is  there  in  the  cupboard.  Philemon,  get  it  out,  can't  you,  you 
stupid,  and  put  it  in  the  fire !  No  matter  now  about  the  hot 
water ;  but  go  and  bring  up  some  beer,  you  fool !  Here,  take 
17* 


198  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

my  key,  and  go  down  cellar  to  the  closet ;  and  mind  you 
don't  touch  none  of  that  brandy.  That  brandy  cost  me  fif- 
teen shillin'  a  gallon." 

Away  went  Philemon,  having  first  thrust  the  heavy  end 
of  the  flip-dog  into  the  bed  of  coals  glowing  under  the  fore- 
stick. 

The  company  impatiently  awaited  the  preparation. 

When  Philemon  returned  with  the  bottles  of  beer,  Joe, 
who  had  by  this  time  got  warmed,  threw  off  his  overcoat, 
and,  as  was  his  wont  in  times  long  agone,  proceeded  to  make 
the  flip.  His  dark  sea-browned  and  sun-browned  counte- 
nance shone  bright  and  red ;  his  little  snub-nose,  that  turned 
up  below  the  broken  bridge  so  as  to  look  like  a  huge  wart, 
with  holes  on  the  lower  side  of  it,  seemed  gratefully  to  inhale 
the  aroma  of  the  various  ingredients.  The  beer  was  poured 
into  a  deep  pitcher,  and  to  that  was  added  the  Jamaica  rum ; 
then  a  large  lump  of  loaf  sugar;,  and  lastly  a  nutmeg —  or, 
as  Joe  called  it,  "  gimlet  handle  "  —  was  rasped  over  it.  « Joe 
then  advanced,  and,  seizing  the  long  handle  of  the  flip-dog, 
drew  the  knob,  now  of  the  color  of  the  coals,  so  white  and 
bright  that  it  dazzled  the  eyes  of  the  expectant  spectators, 
and  made  the  face  of  Old  Joe  as  radiant  as  that  of  a  trans- 
lated saint. 

"  Not  too  hot,"  said  Joe :  "  burn  the  beer."  Then,  swing- 
ing it  back  and  forth  for  a  few  times  till  it  became  of  a 
heavy  red,  he  plunged  it  into  the  still  foaming  mixture,  that 
sizzled  and  sozzled  and  hissed  and  spluttered ;  while  the 
steam,  ascending  around  the  rubicund  face  of  Joe,  gave  it  an 
appearance  "  round  and  red  as  the  harvest-moon  through 
the  mist  of  the  marshes."  The  flip  was  now  pronounced 
made;  and  the  glasses,  that  Diller  had  taken  care  to  have 
warm  to  prevent  cracking,  were  set  out  upon  the  table. 
Joe  filled  them  to  the  brim,  and  then  told  all  to  help  them- 
selves. Foremost  to  do  this  was  Nat  Dobble,  the  acknowl- 
edged soaker,  idler,  and  sot  of  the  village.  Quickly  seizing 
a  glass,  he  raised  it  to  his  mouth,  not  reflecting,  in  his  haste, 
that  the  same  mouth  that  could  swallow  fourth-proof  "  white 
eye"  without  flinching  would  not  be  equally  insensible  to 
boiling  flip.  He  was  in  such  haste,  that  half  his  allowance 
was  down  his  throat  before  he  was  aware  of  his  error ;  and 
Joe,  who  had  seen  his  greedy  an$  dangerous  haste,  quietly 
remarked,  "  It  is  hot." 


A   FAMILY    HISTOEY.  199 

"  Oh,  ugh,  ugh ! "  spluttered  out  Nat ;  "  I've  found  it  out ; " 
casting,  at  the  same  tfme,  a  quantity  of  the  scalding  fluid 
recklessly  from  his  mouth,  so  that  it  fell  upon  the  new  win- 
ter suit  of  Joe's  ever-doubting  enemy,  Spinney. 

"There,"  says  Joe;  "I  just  told  ye  that  all  unbelievers 
should  have  their  part;  and  you've  got  yours,  and  more  too. 
Fulfilment  of  Scripter.  There  shall  be  weeping,  and  gnash- 
ing of  teeth.  Just  look  at  Nat !  See  the  tears!  Ain't  that 
weeping?  And  see  Spinney  gnash  his  teeth  because  his  clothes 
are  spilt  on !" 

The  others  were  seated  round  with  their  glasses,  all  laugh- 
ing at  the  expense  of  Nat  and  Spinney,  and  sipping  their  flip 
with  evident  delight;  and  it  was  not  long  before  Spinney 
became  much  mollified,  —  the  warm  mixture  that  he  sipped 
down  seeming  to  thaw  out  from  his  frigid  nature  the 
latent  humors  of  his  body,  that,  in  their  turn,  lubricated  the 
social  enginery  of  his  system,  and  set  in  full  flow  the  ideas 
long  congealed  in  his  brain,  that  now  ran  glibly  and  kindly 
from  his  usually  caustic  tongue.  Nat  Dobble,  who  had  been 
so  cruelly  cheated  out  of  his  first  glass,  escaped  from  the 
gibes  of  his  companions  to  the  door,  and  cooled  his  mouth 
with  a  handful  of  snow;  and  then,  taking  another  handful,  he 
made  it  into  a  hard  ball,  and  returned  with  it  to  the  bar- 
room ;  and,  as  the  pitcher  was  yet  far  from  empty,  he  filled  his 
glass,  and  slyly  dropped  his  snow-ball  into  it,  and  then  took 
off  the  hot  flip,  iced,  to  his  evident  satisfaction.  He  then 
filled  his  glass  a  third  time,  when  his  thirst  was  so  far  ap- 
peased that  he  was  content  to  sip  slowly  like  the  others,  and 
in  the  mean  while  discuss  with  them  the  merits  of  the  con- 
coction. All  said  it  was  good,  though  it  did  not  quite  suit 
the  palate  of  either.  One  said  it  was  too  strong;  another, 
that  a  drop  more  of  the  Jamaica  would  have  improved  it; 
still  another  said  it  was  too  sweet ;  another,  that  it  was  too 
bitter.  Nat  said  it  was  too  hot.  All  agreed  that  it  was  too 
soon  gone ;  and  straightway  Joe  set  himself  to  the  prepara- 
tion of  another  pitcherful.  In  the  mean  while,  good  Mrs. 
Diller  had  prepared  an  excellent  supper  in  the  dining-room, 
to  which  he  paid  his  respects  while  his  friends  were  discuss- 
ing the  second  pitcher  of  flip.  He  returned  to  them  as  soon 
as  he  had  testified  to  his  approval  of  Mistress  Diller's  re- 
past, and  found  that  the  pitcher  was  again  empty.  The 
company  by  this  time  were  in  excellent  humor,  and  Joe  be- 


200  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY:      - 

gan  to  tell  of  his  adventures  while  away  during  the  two 
years  since  his  last  departure.  i 

"You  see,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  particularly  to  Tom 
Homer,  "  being  a  man  of  my  word,  and  having  promised  so 
many  presents  to  my  namesakes,  and  those  of  my  sister 
Nancy,  who  died  in  the  poor-house,  I  thought  I  must  go  and 
look  after  my  property  off  to  the  west'ard ;  and  then  I  thought, 
too,  that  may-be  I  would  go  and  look  after  my  estate  in 
England,  and  see  if  I  was  a  lord  yet,  or  only  plain  Joe  Pum- 
pagin.  But,  when  I  got  so  near  as  to  smell  the  salt  water, 
I'm  staggered  if  I  didn't  give  up  all  thoughts  of  my  important 
interests,  and  ship  as  second  mate  on  board  a  ship  bound  to 
Matanzas.  Our  vessel  was  a  tidy  little  brig  called  the 
'Lovely  Ann;'  and  we  had  been  out  about  a  week,  when 
we  were  overtaken  by  a  squall,  that,  at  the  first  gust,  carried 
away  our  jib-boom,  and  took  off  half  our  men,  who  were 
just  then  furling  the  sails  with  all  haste.  Our  skipper  had 
come  in  through  the  cabin-window,  as  his  father  owned 
the  vessel,  and  the  first  mate  was  sick  in  the  cabin  with  the 
fever.  So  the  cap'n,  when  he  seen  the  devil  was  to  pay,  says 
he  to  me,  'Mr.  Pumpagin,  I'll  jist  go  down  and  make  up  the 
reckoning,  and  you  look  to  the  ship.'  Now,  as  we  had  not 
seen  the  sun  for  three  days,  and  had  been  running  all 
the  while  at  twelve  knots  an  hour  by  dead  reckoning,  and 
our  compass  was  out  of  order  and  wouldn't  move,  and  the 
chronometer  had  run  down,  I  was  curious  to  know  how  he 
was  going  to  make  up  the  reckoning.  He  was  a  poor  noddy, 
always  swearing  at  the  men  in  fair  weather ;  and  to  me  and 
the  other  mate  he  was  always  telling  what  great  things  he 
had  done  in  other  ships,  with  mutinous  crews,  and  amid  de- 
stroying hurricanes :  but  now  his  face  was  as  pale  as  Desde- 
mona's  after  that  black  fellow  Othello  had  choked  her  to 
death.  He  gave  me  a  look  so  despairing  and  cowardly,  that 
I  laughed  in  his  face.  Directly  the  first  mate,  having  heard 
the  crash  on  deck,  and  knowing  there  must  be  some  fun  go- 
ing on  on  deck,  crawled  out,  sick  as  he  was ;  and,  going  for- 
'ard,  an  awful  wave  dashed  over  us,  and  took  him  off,  and 
two  more  of  the  men. 

" '  This  must  be  stopped,'  said  the  cap'n,  crouching  between 
the  hen-coop  and  clothes-line  on  which  the  sailors'  clothes 
were  hung  a-drying.     ( Can  you  pray  ? ' 

" <  Got  no  time  for  it,'  says  I. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  201 

" '  But  something  must  be  done ;  for  this  thing  must  be 
stopped,  I  say.' 

."'That is  just  what  the  man  said  when  the  doctor  told 
him  his  wife  had  had  the  third  baby.  But  how  to  do  it  is 
the  devil  of  it.'  —  'It  must  be  stopped,'  says  the  cap'n  again. 
*  Yes,'  says  I;  'but,  as  the  doctor  said,  how  the  devil  to  do  it.'" 

"I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  Spinney.  "But  you 
would  oblige  me  if  you  would  just  tell  how  it  was  that  the 
hen-coop,  and  line  full  of  clothes,  was  left,  seein'  as  how  the 
hurricane  carried  off  the  masts,  mate,  and  men." 

"Do  you  think  I  had  any  time  to  look  after  hen-coops  in 
such  a  gale  as  that  ?  "  answered  Joe  indignantly.  "  No,  sir : 
I  had  the  ship  to  look  out  for,  and  keep  her  afloat ;  for  just 
then  the  cap'n  bolted  into  the  cabin ;  and,  when  I  looked 
down  about  two  minutes  after,  I  saw  him  drop  on  his 
knees,  and  begin, '  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep.'  — '  That  ain't 
the  way ! '  I  sung  out  to  him  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  '  How 
is  it,  then?'  said  he  :  'you  come  and  lend  a  hand.  You  begin; 
and  you  can  just  say  to  the  Lord  for  me,  if  he  will  only  get 
me  safe  out  of  this  'ere,  I'll  never  ask  him  for  any  thing 
again.'  — '  Can't  indorse  for  you,  cap'n,'  says  I.  'Draw  your 
own  bills.  You  know  you  are  an  awful  liar,  and  you  can't 
take  me  in  in  that  way.'  Just  then  came  another  crash,  and 
the  masts  all  went  by  the  board ;  the  rudder  was  knocked  all 
to  shivers  ;  and  every  man  aboard  ship  was  swept  off,  except 
the  cap'n  and  me.  The  cap'n  was  now  so  scared,  that  he  fell 
over  in  a  fit.  I  left  him  to  go  on  deck,  when  I  found  the 
wind  blowing  at  the  rate  of  a  knot  a  minute." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  Spinney. 

" Believe  it  or  not,  do  you  see  that?"  said  he,  pointing  to* 
the  top  of  his  head,  which  formerly  had  a  thick  growth  of 
hair  upon  it,  but  was  now  as  bald  as  a  turnip.  "  It  blew  so, 
that  it  took  every  hair  out  of  my  head.  On  the  top  it  never 
grew  again.  At  last,  I  saw  we  were  being  driven  full  head 
on  a  rocky  shore  ;  and,  as  we  neared  the  land,  I  caught  sight 
of  a  little  cove  that  made  up  between  two  large  rocks.  By 
putting  the  helm  hard  a-port  at  the  nick  of  time,  I  managed 
to  throw  the  ship  on  top  of  a  big  wave  into  this  cove ;  and 
she  settled  hard  and  dry  on  a  sand-bank." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  Spinney ;  "but  how  did 
you  put  the  helm  a-port  when  the  rudder  had  been  all 
knocked  to  shivers  ?  " 


202  GOMEBY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  stop  to  mend  the  rudder  when  we 
were  driving  full-head  on  a  rock-bound  coast  ?  "  triumphant- 
ly responded  Joe. 

"  No  sooner  did  the  cap'n  feel  that  the  ship  was  safe  an& 
hard  a-ground  than  he  came  on  deck  to  see  how  to  get  from 
the  ship.  But,  as  every  minute  a  huge  wave  rolled  in  that 
made  the  stern  of  the  ship  bob  up  and  down  like  a  cork  in  a 
boiling  kettle,  he  was  afraid  to  make  the  attempt  alone ;  and 
says  he  to  me,  '  Mr.  Pumpagin,  can  you  swim  ?  '  — '  Like  a 
duck,'  says  I.  'Well,'  says  he,  *  take  me  on  your  back,  and 
a  quarter  of  the  cargo  is  yours.'  —  'Agreed,'  says  I ;  and,  let- 
ting ourselves  down  from  the  side,  I  took  the  scared-to-death 
lobster  on  my  back;  and,  as  the  great  Shakspeare  says, 

'As  iEneas,  our  great  ancestor, 

Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 

The  old  Anchises  bear,  so  from  the  waves '  — 

did  I  the  skipper  of  the  'Lovely  Ann.'  I  had  just  struck 
off"  — 

"On  the  sandbank?"  interrogated  Spinney. 

"  Don't  bother  me,  Mr.  Spinney,  if  you  please !  My  story 
is  all  true." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it." 

"  I  was  saying,"  continued  Joe,  "  I  had  just  struck  off  when 
a  big  wave  came  bouncing  in,  and  carried  us  both  out  to  sea. 
'Now,'  says  I  to  myself,  'Old  Joe,  "there  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs 
of  men,  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune:"  that's 
what  Shakspeare  says;  and  I  guess  it's  high  tide  for  me  just 
now.'  So  says  I,  'Cap'n,  you're  getting  heavy;  and  I'm 
afraid  I  must  drop  you.'  — '  Oh,  lordy !  oh,  don't ! '  says  he. 
'  Save  me,  and  half  the  cargo  is  yours.'  — '  All  right,'  says  I, 
striking  for  the  shore.  'But  now,'  thinks  I,  ' here  am  I,  Joe 
Pumpagin,  without  a  cent  to  bless  myself  with.' " 

"  Except  the  property  to  the  west'ard,"  interrupted  Homer. 

"  And  the  estate  in  England,"  added  Spinney. 

"  Ah !  that  was  all  intended  for  my  namesakes.  But,  as  I 
was  saying,  here  was  I,  Old  Joe,  without  money,  and  with 
mighty  low  credit  at  the  Eagle ;  and  this  cap'n  has  lots  of 
money,  and  a  rich  old  father  owning  a  whole  fleet  of  ships : 
and,  if  I  save  his  life,  he  must  pay  for  it.  So  I  says  again, 
'Cap'n,  I  shall  have  to  drop  you.'  — '  Oh,  don't ! '  says  he, 
clinging  tighter  and  tighter :  '  don't,  and  you  shall  have  three- 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  203 

quarters.'  — '  All  right,'  says  I ;  ■  but  why  shouldn't  I  drop 
you,  and  take  the  whole?'  —  'You  may  have  the  whole,'  he 
whined  piteously;  *  only  bring  me  safe  to  shore.'  —  'It's  a  bar- 
gain ! '  said  I,  striking  lustily  for  the  shore,  which  I  reached 
in  about  five  minutes.  We  had  not  been  long  ashore  when 
we  knew  we  were  in  a  hot  climate ;  for  the  rays  of  the  sun 
scorched  us  like  Nat's  flip  scorched  his  mouth  just  now." 

"  Did  the  storm  continue  ?"  said  Nat  Dobble. 

"Yes  :  it  lasted  three  days  and  nights  ;  and  at  last,  when 
it  abated,  the  old  ship  was  high  and  dry  on  the  land.  Now, 
as  the  ship  and  cargo  were  all  mine,  I  hired  the  cap'n  to 
work  for  me  as  clerk ;  but,  as  he  had  begun  swearing  again 
as  soon  as  he  got  on  shore,  I  told  him  to  stop  it,  or  every  time 
he  swore  I  should  dock  off  ninepence  of  his  wages.  The 
first  day  brought  him  two  and  thrippence  in  my  debt;  and 
it  was  only  when  I  gave  him  a  taste  of  the  rope's  end,  that 
he  quit,  and  became  a  very  respectable  man  and  good  citizen." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  Spinney. 

"The  flip-dog  will  all  be  burnt  up  if  we  wait  to  hear  any 
more  of  your  infernal  lies,"  said  Nat,  who  grew  surly  as  he 
grew  drunk. 

"  Every  word  true,"  said  Spinney.  "  I  saw  that  cap'n  af- 
terwards, and  he  told  me  the  same  story." 

"  That  can't  be  true ;  for  he  was  lost  on  his  voyage  home," 
replied  Joe. 

"  Then  it  was  his  brother." 

"Ah!  very  likely:  he  said  he  had  a  brother  that  looked 
just  like  him.  But  let  us  have  more  flip.  Here,  the  dog  is 
red,  —  as  red  as  Spinney's  nose." 

As  this  member  of  the  doubter's  physiognomy  was  noted 
for  its  high  color,  which  people  whispered  came  out  of  a  pri- 
vate decanter,  he  did  not  at  all  like  this  comparison  ;  but  as 
Joe  was  preparing  the  third  mug  of  flip,  to  which  he  was  not 
disinclined  to  pay  his  respects,  he  thought  it  not  a  favorable 
time  to  insist  on  his  temperate  habits.  The  flip  was  made 
as  before,  and  each  one  sat  down  to  sip  the  palate-tickling 
compound.  Joe,  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  then  resumed  his 
narrative. 

"  When  the  storm  had  abated,  I  sent  my  clerk  to  look 
about,  and  learn  where  we  were.  He  soon  returned,  and  re- 
ported that  there  was  a  large  city  not  more  than  six  miles 
off:  so  we  put  on  our  best  clothes,  and  went  to  visit  the 


204  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

town,  and  see  what  we  could  do  with  the  cargo.  The  name 
of  the  town  was  Krampagoola ;  but  I  have  never  been  able 
to  meet  with  anybody  who  had  been  in  the  place  before  or 
since,  and  it  is  not  laid  down  on  any  map  or  chart.  I  have 
made  great  inquiries  of  other  celebrated  travellers  like  my- 
self about  it;  but  nobody  seems  to  have  heard  of  such  a 
place." 

"  I  think  Gulliver  mentions  it,"  said  Spinney. 

"  The  people  were  all  fine-looking ;  the  men  being  all 
stout  and  graceful  like  myself,  and  the  women  were  all  much 
handsomer  than  Square  Gomery's  wife  was  when  she  first 
came  to  this  village.  I  soon  sold  the  cargo,  for  ten  thousand 
dollars, to  a  rich  merchant;  and,  not  to  be  hard  on  the  cap'n, 
I  gave  him  five  hundred  dollars  to  get  home  with.  But  he 
never  got  home,  as  the  ship  was  lost,  and  all  on  board  per- 
ished.    It  was  the  English  brig  '  Rover,'  Cap'n  Bluster." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it.  I  met  Cap'n  Bluster  after- 
wards, and  he  told  me  the  same  story." 

"  The  merchant  that  bought  the  cargo,"  resumed  Joe,  "  was 
richer  a  hundred  times  than  every  man  in  this  town  put  to- 
gether, including  Gomery  of  Montgomery  !  He  had  a  hun- 
dred horses,  and  a  house  as  large  as  Mount  Gomery,  —  I  mean 
the  hill.  He  had  so  many  ships  coming  and  going  all  the 
time,  that  it  took  a  hundred  clerks  to  take  account  of  their 
cargoes ;  and  he  had  two  thousand  slaves  always  at  work 
loading  and  unloading ! " 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  Spinney. 

"The  merchant  insisted  that  I  should  go  to  his  house  and 
stop  while  I  remained  in  town  ;  and  I  went.  He  had  a  beau- 
tiful daughter,  who  was  an  only  child,  and  heir  to  all  his 
property ;  and  it  was  easy  for  me  to  see,  that,  from  the  first, 
the  old  man  was  determined  to  make  a  match  between  us. 
And  the  young  woman,  who  was  highly  educated  and  accom- 
plished, and  of  exceeding  fine  taste,  was  of  the  same  mind. 
But,  as  Shakspeare  says,  'the  course  of  true  love  never  did 
run  smooth.'  There  was  a  gay  cavalier  near  by,  who  had 
been  trying  to  get  a  smile  from  her  for  years ;  and,  when  he 
saw  me  coming  in  and  getting  such  great  attention,  he  was 
jealous  as  a  pet  dog;  for,  as  Shakspeare  says,  'trifles  light 
as  air '  —  you  know  the  rest.  He  was  considered  a  famous 
horseman  in  those  parts,  and  used  to  brag  and  boast  that  he 
could  ride  a  whirlwind.      But   when   I    told  what   I    had 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  205 

clone;  that  I  fought  and  killed  single-handed,  with  these 
two  hands,  the  lions  of  Sahara;  how  that,  being  shipwrecked 
once,  I  had  mounted  on  the  back  of  a  big  whale,  and  driven 
him  into  the  harbor  of  New  Bedford,  where  I  sold  his  oil  for 
six  and  ninepence  a  gallon,  —  then  my  Desdemona  would 
devour  my  discourse,  as  Shakspeare  says;  and  the  green- 
eyed  monster  —  that's  what  Shakspeare  calls  it  —  made  him 
as  mad  as  a  live  lobster  in  hot  water.  He  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, 'but  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  in  the  bud'  (you 
know  how  the  great  bard  of  Avon  has  it)  ;  and  a  few  days 
after  that,  when  we  were  both  present,  and  I  had  been  sing- 
ing to  her  and  playing  on  the  guitar,  the  young  lady  told  us 
that  the  next  day  she  was  going  to  prove  who  was  the  best 
man. 

"'How?'  said  I,  standing  up,  and  putting  my  hand  on  my 
heart.  '  Tell  me  any  danger  I  would  not  encounter  for  my 
Betsey'  (Betsey  was  her  name,  you  know).  'If  you  bid  me 
follow  the  tiger  to  his  lair,  to  scale  the  heights  of  the  preci- 
pice and  rob  the  eagle  of  its  young,  command  me,  and  either 
the  young  tigers  and  eaglets  shall  be  yours,  or  your  slave 
shall  be  a  bleeding  corpus  at  your  feet.' 

"'Oh,  tut!'  said  she:  'nothing  of  that  kind.  My  father 
has  bought  me  a  pony  that  nobody  yet  can  ride.  It  is  fleet  as 
the  wind,  and  wild  as  the  chamois.  It  is  more  beautiful  than 
the  lily,  the  flamingo,  or  the  soft  texture  of  the  tiger's  skin. 
Who  first  rides  and  subdues  this  steed,  and  brings  him  sub- 
missive to  my  hand,  he  that  hand  may  claim.' 

"  The  cavalier,  whose  name  was  Don  Frederico  Antonio 
Bombasto  Gumbo,  sprang  up  at  the  word,  and,  in  a  voice 
quaking  with  emotion,  exclaimed,  '  To-morrow  I  claim  the 
test ! ' 

" '  I  give  the  rash  booby  the  first  chance,'  said  I,  and  retired 
with  a  lofty  disdain,  receiving  an  admonition  from  the  sweet 
Betsey  to  be  on  the  ground  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  to 
witness  my  rival's  triumph  or  discomfiture. 

"  I  was  there  at  the  hour.  The  vain  Don  Gumbo,  booted 
and  spurred,  with  a  riding-whip  in  his  hand,  was  walking 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house ;  while,  on  a  balcony  above, 
sat  the  divine  Betsey.  As  I  appeared,  and  walked  up  to- 
wards the  don,  he  cast  upon  me  such  a  look  of  rage  and  hate 
as  he  supposed  would  knock  me  down.  But  I  returned  it 
with  a  look  of  such  withering  defiance  and  contempt,  that, 

18 


206  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

had  he  been  a  gentleman  of  sensitive  feelings,  he  would 
have  sunk  into   the  earth. 

"  Presently  the  gate  of  the  stable-yard  was  opened,  and 
the  fiery  steed  was  led  forth.  My,  he  was  a  beauty  !  Two 
grooms  were  at  his  head  ;  and  they  could  hardly  hold  him  to 
the  ground.  At  first  I  could  hardly  believe  it  was  a  horse, 
so  graceful  was  its  form,  so  light  its  tread,  so  beautiful  its 
skin.  He  was  striped  like  the  zebra;  the  ground-work,  of 
the  purest  white,  being  varied  by  serpent-like  stripes  of  glossy 
black.     The  mane  was  all  white,  the  tail  all  black." 

"  I've  seen  such  frequently,"  said  Spinney. 

"Don  Gumbo  looked  hard  at  the  beast,  and  then,  approach- 
ing, bounded  to  his  back,  and  away  he  went,  clearing  fences 
and  gates  without  an  effort.  '  Follow  him,'  said  Betsey  to 
the  grooms.  They  hurried  to  the  stables ;  and,  having  got 
out  their  own  nags,  were  just  mounting,  when  the  striped 
pony  came  dancing  back  over  the  fence  into  the  yard,  having 
spilled  his  rider  in  the  mean  while.  He  was  led  submissive 
to  the  stable,  and  the  grooms  went  to  look  for  the  fallen 
cavalier.  They  found  him  lying  senseless  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  house,  and  carried  him  back,  and  laid  him  on  a  bed ; 
and  it  was  two  weeks  before  he  became  conscious.  In  his 
ravings,  he  used  to  swear  all  sorts  of  vengeance  on  Don 
Hozay,  as  he  called  me. 

"At  length  he  was  no  longer  hors  du  combat,  as  the 
French  say,  but  was  able  to  witness  my  trial  of  the  fiery 
beast.  By  great  good  luck,  there  came  on  a  tremendous 
snow-storm  the  night  before  I  was  to  show  my  skill  in 
horsemanship.  The  snow,  in  the  morning,  lay  damp  and 
heavy,  two  feet  and  a  half  deep ;  and  in  some  parts  of  the 
yard,  where  it  had  drifted,  it  was  five  feet  deep.  Betsey  stood 
at  her  window  above,  looking  out  on  the  scene.  Don  Gum- 
bo stood  below,  looking  glum  and  savage.  The  horse  was 
brought  out,  and  he  was  even  more  fiery  and  mettlesome 
than  on  the  previous  morning.  He  was  led  up  to  where  I 
stood;  when,  seizing  the  reins,  I  jumped  upon  his  back,  and 
by  a  quick  jerk  brought  his  head  round  towards  the  deepest 
snow,  when  I  plunged  the  spurs  into  his  sides.  At  the  first 
bound,  he  jumped  full  thirty  feet,  and  landed  in  four  feet  of 
snow.  Again  he  made  a  spring ;  but  this  time  his  bound  was 
less.  I  held  him  up  firmly  towards  the  deepest  snow-banks ; 
and  the  way  he  floundered  and  plunged  was  right  curious  to 


)a  family  history.  207 

behold.  But  he  soon  learned  he  had  a  master;  and  then, 
bringing  him  up  to  a  place  where  the  snow  was  not  so  deep, 
I  jumped  him  over  the  fence,  and  galloped  away  for  a  good 
three  hours,  at  the  rate  of  twenty-five  miles  an  hour.  At 
length  he  owned  himself  mastered,  and  trotted  away,  broken 
and  submissive.  I  then  concluded  it  was  time  to  return ; 
but,  thinking  it  might  be  too  hard  on  the  horse  to  ride  him 
so  far  without  baiting,  I  called  up  to  a  farm-house  by  the 
roadside,  and  asked  the  farmer  if  he  could  give  my  horse 
some  oats. 

" '  Not  an  oat,'  said  he. 

" '  Have  you  any  hay,  then  ? ' 

"'No  hay  neither,'  said  he. 

" '  Well,'  says  I,  '  there  is  a  good  field  of  grass :  will  you 
lend  me  a  scythe  to  go  and  cut  a  baiting  for  my  horse  if  I 
pay  you  the  worth  of  it  ? ' 

"  '  How  much  might  that  be  ? '  said  he. 

"'Well,  I  reckon  about  two  and  thrippence.' 

"'All  right,'  said  he;  and  off  he  went  and  brought  me  a 
bran  new  scythe,  made  by  Joy  &  Sons,  Providence  :  and  in  a 
short  time  I  had  a  stout  handful  of  grass  before  the  noble 
beast ;  and  he  took  hold  of  it  right  heartily,  I  tell  ye." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it ;  but  where  was  the  snow  all 
the  while  ?  "  said  Spinney. 

"Oh!  I  forgot  to  say  it  was  in  a  hot  country,  and  the  snow 
melted." 

"  That  explains  it,"  said  Spinney. 

"  I  think  a  little  more  flip  would  make  it  clearer,"  said  Nat 
Dobble. 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Joe.  "  Let  us  have  another  pitcher;" 
and  he  at  once  commenced  preparing  it. 

"When  I  returned,"  he  resumed,  "  Miss  Betsey  stood  on 
the  steps  of  the  piazza,  smiling  and  pleased;  and  she  looked  — 
oh,  how  beautiful !  Why,  Gomery's  wife,  in  her  best  days, 
was  no  more  to  be  compared  to  her  than  a  three-legged  milking- 
stool  to  the  throne  of  Great  Britain !  Gumbo  sat  in  a  chair  on 
the  stoop,  fanning  himself,  and  looking  black  enough  to  turn 
milk  sour.  A  thunder-cloud  was  nothing  to  him.  Betsey 
had  a  nosegay  in  her  hand  as  large  as  a  peck  basket,  which 
she  placed  in  her  bosom  as  I  approached." 

"  Commodious  bosom  !  "  said  Nat. 

"She  extended  both  hands  to  me  at  once;  and  then,  tak- 


208  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  ! 

ing  the  flowers  from  their  delicate  resting-place,  she  gave  them 
to  me  with  a  look  and  a  smile  that  said,  as  plainly  as  words, 
'The  prize  you  have  won,  —  it  is  yours:  take  it  and  wear  it!' 
Falling  on  one  knee,  I  took  the  bouquet,  and  held  it  to  my 
nose  for  a  moment." 

"  Such  a  nose !  "  muttered  Nat. 

"  Then  seizing  her  hand,  which  she  did  not  hold  back,  I 
covered  it  with  kisses  from  my  lips." 

"I  hope  there  was  no  tobacco-juice  on  them,"  said  Nat. 

" '  Is  not  the  truth  the  truth  ? '  as  Falstaff  says.  At  that 
moment,  I  considered  my  fortune  made ;  and  as  I  rose  up, 
and  turned  to  depart,  my  eyes  met  those  of  Gumbo,  and 
such  a  look  of  scorn  and  contempt  as  no  other  man  ever  saw, 
and  lived." 

"  I  believe  it,"  said  Spinney. 

"  That  evening  I  received  a  message  from  the  merchant, 
Betsey's  father,  that  he  would  be  glad  to  see  me,  at  eight 
o'clock,  in  his  private  parlor.  Of  course,  I  knew  what  his 
business  was.  It  was  to  make  arrangements  for  the  great 
affair,  —  the  wedding.  So,  happy  fellow  that  I  was,  I  got  my- 
self up  in  my  best  clothes,  and  was  all  on  tip-toe  for  the 
hour ;  for  Betsey  had  also  sent  word,  that,  when  I  was 
through  with  my  business  with  the  old  man,  she  would  ex- 
pect me  in  the  grand  parlor,  and  there  would  be  no  other 
company.  I  thought  eight  o'clock  would  never  come.  I 
was  ready  for  the  fray ;  and  it  was  only  six  and  a  half,  and 
the  sun  was  barely  down.  So  I  thought  to  kill  an  hour 
by  a  walk  among  the  orange-groves  in  the  garden.  Taking 
a  good  stiff  drink  of  grog,  and  stowing  a  big  quid  of  tobacco 
into  my  mouth,  I  sallied  forth,  and  was  thinking  how  that, 
some  day,  all  these  things  would  be  mine.  But,  just  as  I  was 
coming  out  from  a  thick  clump  of  pomegranate-bushes, 
who  should  I  meet  but  Don  Gumbo,  with  his  sword  drawn, 
and  his  eyes  flashing  fire!" 

«  Villain ! "  said  he :  "  you  die ! " 

"  You  don't  tell  me  that,"  said  I  carelessly,  and  making  as 
if  to  pass  on. 

"  At  that  he  made  a  thrust  at  me,  which  I  caught  on  the 
fleshy  part  of  my  left  fore-arm ;  and  now,  being  convinced 
that  he  was  a  man  without  principle,  and  really  meant  to  in- 
sult me,  I  let  out  the  clinched  knuckles  of  my  right  mauler, 
that  hit  him  fair  and  plump  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose.    That 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  209 

prominent  feature  of  his  handsome  face  was  rendered  unfit 
either  for  ornament  or  use  by  the  blow ;  for  I  heard  the 
bones  of  his  head  craunch  in  as  I  have  heard  the  frozen  ground 
under  a  cart-wheel.  He  fell  as  motionless  as  any  ox  you 
ever  knocked  on  the  head  with  a  narrow  axe,  'Bijah  Gordon. 
My  arm  was  bleeding  fast ;  and  I  have  the  scar  now  where 
the  rascal  run  it  through." 

Joe  here  took  off  his  coat,  and,  rolling  up  his  shirt-sleeve, 
showed  a  large  scar,  that  several  witnesses,  who  had  often 
seen  him  in  former  times  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  said  was 
not  there  two  years  before,  when  he  was  last  in  the  village. 
"  Now,"  said  he  triumphantly  to  Spinney,  "  you  will  believe 
it,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  believed  it  before,  every  word  of  it,"  said  the  doubter, 
"  especially  about  the  snow-storm  and  the  grass-cutting." 

"  All  alike  true,"  said  Joe. 

"  He's  a  villain  that  doubts  it,"  said  Dobble. 

"But  wasn't  I  in  a  pretty  fix  then?  Gumbo  belonged  to 
one  of  the  first  families,  and  had  a  great  many  friends ;  and, 
if  it  became  known  that  I  had  killed  him,  nothing  would 
save  me.  So  I  stole  out  of  the  garden,  and,  running  down  to 
the  bay  or  harbor  of  the  town,  I  found  the  ship  ■  Hurricane,' 
Cap'n  Tarbox,  was  to  sail  the  next  morning  at  day- 
light. Only  the  day  before  I  had  put  my  money  on  board 
the  '  Hurricane,'  to  be  taken  to  New  York;  and  I  wrote  to  my 
agent  there  to  have  it  divided  among  my  namesakes.  It 
amounted  to  nine  thousand  dollars,  being  the  amount  I  had 
left  from  the  proceeds  of  the  'Lovely  Ann.'  I  had  spent  a 
good  deal  courting  Betsey.  Courting  is  very  expensive  in 
that  country.  On  board  the  ship,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  Bet- 
sey, explaining  to  her  why  I  had  left  her  so  strangely,  and 
sent  it  on  shore  by  the  pilot.  So,  when  I  got  to  New  York, 
I  found,  as  the  result  of  my  voyage,  that  I  had  nine  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  doubloons." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  poor  girl?"  inquired  Abijah  Gor- 
don, who  had  listened  all  through  the  long  story  with  an  in- 
terest that  showed  he  believed  every  word  of  it. 

"  Oh  !  she  died  in  a  mad-house.  At  least,  she  wrote  to  me 
that  she  intended  to  if  I  did  not  go  back  ;  and  her  father  he 
wrote  to  me,  that,  to  save  my  character,  they  had  hired  a  slave, 
on  the  promise  of  freedom,  to  own  that  he  had  killed  Gumbo, 
and  then  they  hung  him  to  make  all  safe.     He  begged  me 

18* 


210  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

to  return,  and  save  the  life  of  his  daughter  Betsey.  Another 
letter  came  soon  after,  saying  she  was  dead,  and  that  she  had 
died  in  a  mad-house,  without  the  aid  of  a  physician." 

"A  little  crack-brained  before,  perhaps,"  said  Nat. 

"And  what  became  of  the  old  man?"  said  Abijah. 

"  He  died  too.  While  I  was  there,  I  had  showed  him  how 
to  make  flip,  and  he  loved  it  powerful ;  and,  when  I  was  gone, 
he  took  to  flip,  and  drank  so  much  that  it  flipped  him  over, 
and  he  was  buried  by  the  side  of  Betsey.  This  is  a  warn- 
ing to  you  all  to  beware  of  flip ;  for,  as  Shakspeare  says, 
4  It  is  strange  that  a  man  should  put  an  enemy  into  his 
mouth  to  steal  away  his  brains-'  But  here  the  pitcher  is 
out  again  :  we  must  have  some  more." 

The  company  were  all  in  too  maudlin  a  state  to  object  to 
this  last  proposition ;  and  Philemon,  or,  as  Joe  called  him,  the 
Kurnill,  was  despatched  to  the  cellar  to  bring  up  more  beer, 
and  the  flip-dog  was  again  thrust  into  the  coals.  Little  Dil- 
ler  was  getting  anxious  about  the  good  name  of  his  house ; 
while  Spinney  was  become  as  amiable  and  happy  as  Tam 
O'Shanter  on  the  evening  of  that  fearful  ride  when  his  gray 
mare  Meg  distanced  the  witches,  "leaving  behind  her  ain 
gray  tail."  He  was  equally  ummindful  as  Tam  of  one 
who  sat  at  home,  "nursing  her  wrath  to  keep  it  warm."  The 
next  pitcher  of  the  insinuating  flip  was  prepared  by  Joe, 
who,  with  a  roguish  design  on  Spinney,  poured  into  it  double 
the  usual  amount  of  spirit;  and,  when  each  had  refilled  his 
glass  from  this  stronger  preparation,  Joe  asked  them  for  their 
opinion  upon  it.  Spinney  said  it  had  a  finer  flavor  than  the 
last;  so  did  Nat:  and  they  both  evidenced  that  they  thought 
so  by  draining  their  glasses  as  soon  as  the  high  temperature 
of  the  mixure  would  permit,  and  immediately  refilling  them. 
Diller  himself  was  fast  getting  over  his  anxiety  for  the  repu- 
tation of  the  Eagle,  and  was  so  happy,  that  he  proposed  to 
drink  the  health  of  the  distinguished  traveller,  Mr.  Joseph 
Pump  agin. 

"  Bumpers ! "  said  Nat ;  and  he  and  Spinney  filled  their 
glasses  once  more.  \ 

By  this  time,  Spinney  was  thoroughly  amiable;  and,  advan- 
cing towards  Joe,  he  extended  his  hand,  and  said,  "Mr. 
Pumpagin,  here  is  my  hand,  and  I  accept  your  'pology.  No, 
you  accept  my  'pology.  I  didn't  mean  nothing  when  I  kept 
saying,  CI  believe  every  word  of  it.'     I  say  it  was  all  true; 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  211 

and  any  man  who  says  Joe  Pumpagin  ain't  a  man  of  truth, 
then  I  am  ready  to  fight  him !  " 

To  this  Joe  responded  by  giving  his  hand ;  when  Spinney 
closed  by  giving  him  a  hug,  and  then,  stepping  back,  unfor- 
tunately made  a  misstep,  lost  his  balance,  and  fell  on  the 
floor.  His  glass,  flying  from  his  hand  and  striking  the 
hearth,  broke  into  a  thousand  pieces.  Nat  Dobble  advanced, 
and,  with  benevolent  intentions,  stooped  to  assist  the  doubter 
to  rise ;  but,  not  carefully  balancing  himself,  he  fell  over  the 
prostrate  Spinney,  his  head  striking  the  hearth  among  the  frag- 
ments of  his  friend's  tumbler  so  violently,  that  he  rolled 
over  insensible  upon  the  floor,  with  the  blood  oozing  from  a 
dozen  wounds  in  his  face.  Little  Diller  now  rushed  forward 
to  their  relief:  but,  at  the  instant  of  his  approach.  Spinney 
chanced  to  throw  out  one  leg ;  and,  his  heavy  boot  striking  the 
spindle-shanks  of  the  landlord,  he,  too,  fell  over,  and  neither 
of  the  three  had  the  power  to  rise.  Two  others,  less  intoxi- 
cated, now  rushed  in  :  but  so  vigorously  did  Diller  and  Spin- 
ney strike  out  with  their  feet  and  hands,  that  they,  too,  were 
soon  sprawling  on  top  of  the  heap ;  and  the  whole  five  were 
piled  up  like  a  nest  of  snakes,  all  intertwisted,  heads  and 
points,  and  unable  to  extricate  themselves. 

Joe  looked  at  this  interesting  group  with  a  complacent 
chuckle,  and  then,  drawing  forth  his  pipe  from  his- pocket, 
sat  down,  and  began  to  smoke  with  an  air  of  indifference. 
Those  present  who  had  not  got  entangled  in  the  human 
jumble  on  the  floor  quickly  left  the  room,  and  went  home. 
And  now  Philemon,  coming  to  the  rescue  of  his  master,  drew 
him  forth,  and  thrust  him  into  the  kitchen,  where  his  good 
wife  was  in  a  terrible  state  of  perturbation,  as  the  last  scene 
in  the  bar-room  had  been  attended  with  such  a  clatter  and 
tumult  as  to  seriously  alarm  her  lest  the  good  name  of  the 
hotel  should  be  prejudiced.  But  the  sight  of  Diller  as  he  was 
thrust  through  the  doorway  by  Philemon,  his  hair  all  dishev- 
elled, his  coat  torn,  and  his  whole  appearance  that  of  maud- 
lin drunkenness,  raised  this  good  woman's  temper  to  a  pitch 
of  fury. 

" Ah! "  said  she,  "this  is  the  way  you  keep  your  tavern,  is 
it?  And  all  because  that  low  fellow,  Joe  Pumpagin,  has 
come  back ! " 

Here  Philemon  closed  the  door ;  and  what  more  passed 
between  this  usually  happy  and  loving  couple  has  never  to 


212  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  ; 

this  day  been  revealed.  All  extricated  themselves  from  the 
floor,  and  left  the  house,  except  Spinney  and  Nat :  they 
both  lay  in  a  drunken  sleep.  Joe  now  took  a  candle,  and, 
knowing  where  the  best  chamber  and  bed  were,  went  up 
stairs,  and,  without  leave,  took  possession  of  this  room; 
though  in  former  days  he  had  never  been  allowed  to  look 
towards  so  exclusive  an  apartment,  which  was  reserved  only 
for  the  most  distinguished  guests.  Here,  between  the  whi- 
test sheets,  and  on  a  bed  of  the  lightest  live-geese  feathers, 
he  was  soon  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  his  potations  of  flip. 

A  little  before  sunrise  the  next  morning,  Spinney  was  seen 
stealing  from  the  house  homeward,  followed,  half  an  hour  af- 
ter, by  Nat  Dobble  ;  and  from  that  day,  for  many  years,  the 
adventures  of  that  night  formed  an  epoch  in  the  town  his- 
tory. For  a  time,  it  completely  cast  in  the  shade  the  "great 
baby  ball,"  as  it  was  called  ;  and  was  always  spoken  of  as  the 
"great  drunk."  Spinney  was  not  seen  at  the  Eagle  again 
during  the  winter;  and  when,  a  month  later,  he  met  Joe  in 
the  street,  who  asked  him  why  he  did  not  call  in  again,  and 
take  a  glass  with  his  old  friends  at  the  tavern,  he  replied, 
"he  had  abandoned  the  follies  and  vices  of  this  world,  and, 
besides,  was  busy  getting  up  his  winter  firewood." 

"  I  believe  every  word  of  it,"  said  Joe. 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  213 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  In  truth  he  was  a  strange  and  wayward  wight, 

Fond  of  each  gentle  and  each  dreadful  scene. 

In  darkness  and  in  storm  he  found  delight; 

Nor  less  than  when,  on  ocean  wave  serene, 

The  southern  sun  diffused  his  dazzling  sheen. 

E'en  sad  vicissitude  amused  his  soul; 

And  if  a  sigh  would  sometimes  intervene, 

And  down  his  cheek  a  tear  of  pity  roll, 
A  sigh,  a  tear,  so  sweet,  he  wished  not  to  control." — Beattie. 

That  Joe  Pumpagin  had  returned  with  his  pockets  full  of 
money  was  soon  known  to  every  one  in  the  village  of  Mont- 
gomery. But  that  the  whole  story  of  the  sea-voyage  was  an 
entire  fiction,  as  well  as  the  transparent  parts  of  it,  very  few 
had  any  doubt.  It  was  the  only  account,  however,  that  he 
would  give  of  the  way  he  had  obtained  his  money ;  and  so 
people  were  left  in  curious  perplexity  in  regard  to  him. 
Some  even  whispered  that  he  must  be  either  a  pirate  or  a 
burglar,  and,  having  made  a  haul,  had  come  to  Montgomery 
to  spend  it,  safe  from  the  clutches  of  the  law.  But  no  one 
who  knew  him  believed  any  thing  of  this  kind,  as  he  seemed 
always  so  careless  and  jolly,  either  with  or  without  money, 
that  it  was  an  evident  absurdity  to  connect  him  with  any 
thing  like  violence  or  crime.  A  more  plausible  theory,  and 
one  more  generally  accepted,  was,  that  he  was  connected 
with  some  wealthy  family,  and  had  probably  inherited  a  for- 
tune ;  and,  in  support  of  this  opinion,  his  playful  allusions  to 
his  estate  in  England,  and  his  boast  to  the  confiding  mothers 
at  the  great  ball  that  he  would  one  day  be  a  lord,  were  quot- 
ed as  proof. 

But  his  money,  however  obtained,  was  always  current  at 
the  Eagle ;  and  he  was  no  longer  an  unwelcome  sitter  in  the 
chimney-corner  of  Diller's  bar-room.  He  paid  all  his  bills 
promptly,  and  spent  more  money  at  the  bar  than  all  the  vil- 
lage besides.    His  old  friend,  Tench  Wales,  was  now  remem- 


214  GOMEEY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

bered ;  and  Joe  bought  him  two  cows  and  a  small  flock  of 
sheep;  besides  which  he  ordered  a  carpenter  to  renovate  his 
house,  holding  himself  responsible  for  the  job.  Tench  was 
as  fond  of  flip  as  Joe,  though  he  was  not  often  at  the  tavern ; 
and  preferred  a  quiet  mug  at  his  own  house,  of  a  cold  night, 
when  the  winds  were  merry.  Except  when  Joe  was  thus 
engaged,  there  was  scarce  an  evening  during  that  winter  that 
the  flip-dog  at  the  tavern  was  not  in  requisition. 

Though  Joe's  education  was  not  of  a  high  order,  he,  never- 
theless, could  read ;  and  his  reading,  though  not  taking  an 
extensive  range  among  authors,  was  well  selected ;  for  he 
read  only  one  book,  and  that  book,  as  may  be  inferred  from 
his  frequent  quotations,  was  Shakspeare.  In  some  of  his 
early  adventures,  he  had  visited  the  theatres,  not  only  in  the 
large  cities  of  his  own  country,  but  in  those  of  England,  and 
had  seen  the  best  of  actors,  and  been  so  impressed  with 
the  renderings  of  the  great  bard  by  some  of  the  eminent  tra- 
gedians, that  he  took  to  studying  the  text,  and  found  it  such 
a  mine  of  intellectual  treasures,  practical  wisdom,  and  flow- 
ers of  fancy,  that  he  read  it  and  read  it,  year  after  year,  till  it 
was  as  familiar  to  him  as  was  ever  the  Bible  to  Puritan  or 
Covenanter.  In  the  use  of  the  pen,  his  knowledge  was  very 
limited ;  at  least,  it  was  supposed  to  be  so  by  the  good  people  of 
Montgomery;  for,  whenever  his  autograph  had  been  required, 
it  was  always  found  that  he  had  a  middle  name,  the  first  letter 
of  which  was  X  :  and,  from  the  knowledge  of  this  fact,  some 
of  his  listeners  at  the  Eagle  were  inclined  to  doubt  whether  he 
ever  wrote  that  letter  to  Miss  Betsey  of  which  he  had  boasted 
at  "  the  great  drunk."  But  envious  minds  are  always  carp- 
ing, and  genius  is  ever  exposed  to  the  shafts  of  common- 
place. 

During  the  winter  of  Joe's  return,  he  enjoyed  his  ease  and 
comfort  at  the  Eagle.  He  was  somewhat  erratic  in  his  life, 
having  many  confidences  with  the  town's-people,  and  espe- 
cially with  Tench  Wales  and  his  wife.  If  a  fat  turkey  or 
brace  of  chickens  was  to  be  sold,  he  would  not  unfrequently 
buy  them,  and  send  them  to  his  friends,  and  follow  them  at 
about  the  hour  he  knew  they  would  be  ready  for  the  table. 
As  often  as  twice  a  week,  he  would  set  out  early  in  the  morn- 
ing for  the  old  Gomery  or  Gault  Farm  upon  the  hill,  and 
would  not  return  till  near  evening.  He  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Nathan  Pratt,  who  had  long  been  the  upper-servant 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  215 

or  manager  of  the  place,  while  his  wife  Jerusha  was  under- 
housekeeper  to  the  overseeing  and  overruling  Huldah ;  and 
by  a  judicious  use  of  his  stories,  and  by  sending  up  every 
few  days  small  presents  of  sea-shells  or  other  curiosities 
which  he  had  picked  up  in  his  travels,  and  which  he  knew 
would  be  acceptable,  and  on  one  occasion  the  materials  for 
a  new  dress  to  Jerusha,  wife  of  Nathan,  he  made  himself  se- 
cure of  a  hearty  welcome.  Here  it  was  his  delight  to  talk 
with  those  worthy  people  of  the  early  history  of  the  place, 
and  fish  up  all  the  old  traditions  that  hung  around  it  with 
their  heavy  shadows.  Nathan  and  his  wife  had  heard,  during 
their  residence  there,  all  the  marvellous  tales  of  the  place ; 
and,  in  her  time,  had  often  talked  with  old  Lady  Gomery  of 
the  dreadful  Gault  massacre.  But  she,  as  we  saw  long  ago, 
was  a  woman  of  too  strong  sense,  too  well  informed,  and  of 
too  philosophical  a  turn  of  mind,  to  attach  any  thing  of  a  su- 
pernatural or  miraculous  character  to  the  phenomena  which 
she  had  witnessed,  but  had  explained  them  to  her  own 
satisfaction  by  following  to  their  legitimate  conclusion  the 
speculations  of  Mesmer  and  Franklin,  that  at  a  far  later  day 
were  systematized  and  verified  by  Richenbach  and  his  disci- 
ples. But  Joe  was  not  so  much  interested  in  the  ghost  sto- 
ries as  he  was  in  gathering  up  all  the  reports,  rumors,  and 
traditions  that  had  ever  circulated  about  the  place  in  regard 
to  the  tragedy  itself  and  the  authors  of  it.  The  occurrence, 
at  the  time,  had  excited  the  horror  and  indignation  of  all 
who  knew  of  it ;  and  when  the  history  of  the  war  came  to 
be  written  out,  and  the  official  reports  of  all  the  different 
movements,  successes,  and  disasters  of  the  royal  troops  were 
published,  Huldah  Gomery,  who  had  sifted  the  evidence 
more  thoroughly  than  any  one  else,  had  made  up  her  mind 
as  to  the  guilty  party.  From  Nathan  and  his  wife,  Joe 
learned  what  this  good  woman  had  often  said  of  the  affair, 
and  that  the  leader  of  the  murdering  party  was,  in  her  opin- 
ion, a  Col.  Cumberland :  but  whether  the  act  were  done  by 
him,  or  by  one  of  his  subordinates  with  his  consent,  or 
despite  his  authority,  she  did  not  pretend  to  know;  though 
her  opinion  was  that  it  was  the  colonel  himself,  as  the  figure 
seen  in  the  apparition  had  always  been  a  tall,  handsome  offi- 
cer in  uniform. 

Thus  the  winter  passed  away,  and  Joe  Pumpagin  enjoyed 
his  ease  and  comfort  at  the  Eagle.    He  entertained  the  tra- 


216  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

vellers  with  his  strange  stories,  and  the  neighbors  with  hot 
grog.  His  face  grew  redder,  his  form  more  rotund,  as  the 
spring  advanced ;  and  in  his  visits  he  was  always  welcome, 
for  he  scattered  his  sixpences  freely  among  the  little  folks, 
and  praised  them  up  to  their  mothers  as  juvenile  paragons. 
But,  next  to  Tench  Wales  and  his  wife,  his  most  intimate 
friends  were  the  occupants  of  the  old  Gomery  Place  on  the 
hill ;  and  between  him.  and  them  there  was  a  sort  of  Freema- 
sonry established,  or  rather  an  implied  treaty  of  reciprocity, 
by  which  it  was  understood,  that,  while  they  were  to  relate  to 
him  all  the  floating  traditions  of  the  place,  he  was  to  regale 
them  with  his  still  more  marvellous  adventures  in  countries 
not  laid  down  on  any  map,  nor  mentioned  in  any  geography. 
The  old  log-house,  the  one  built  by  Gault,  and  which  had 
been  the  habitation  of  Robert  Gomery  till  the  new  one  was 
built,  now  stood  a  dishonored  edifice,  being  still  used  as  a  place 
of  shelter  for  farming-tools  and  dilapidated  furniture.  It 
was  even  now  said  to  be  occasionally  haunted ;  but,  as  the 
family  made  it  a  practice  never  to  go  near  it  during  the  tra- 
ditional hours  when  the  ghosts  were  abroad,  they  could  not 
tell  whether  they  had  revisited  the  pale  glimpses  of  the 
moon  during  the  last  year.  A  little  more  than  a  year  before, 
however,  one  of  the  hired  men,  having  returned  from  the 
village  one  hot  July  evening  so  intoxicated  that  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  did,  staggered  into  it,  and  lay  down  on  a  pile  of 
horse-blankets.  There  he  had  fallen  asleep,  but  was  soon  after 
awakened  by  a  horrid  noise,  and  saw,  as  clear  as  daylight,  the 
figure  of  a  woman  with  her  throat  cut,  and  heard  such 
screams  of  a  child  that  he  durst  not  move  nor  speak  till  the 
apparition  had  disappeared,  and  the  sounds  of  the  child's 
voice  receding  in  the  distance  could  be  no  longer  heard. 
Then,  running  to  the  door  of  the  house,  he  raised  the  whole 
family  by  his  shouts  and  clatter,  and  told  of  the  dreadful 
sights  he  had  seen.  This  laborer  had  been  on  the  place  but 
a  few  days,  and,  never  having  heard  of  the  Gault  tragedy, 
was  not  prepared  for  such  sights.  When  he  told  his  story, 
he  was  surprised  at  the  cool  way  in  which  it  was  received. 
Nathan  told  him  it  was  only  the  ghosts  of  the  Gaults  come 
back ;  and  all  went  to  bed  again  to  sleep  as  undisturbed  as 
ever.  But  the  witness  of  the  scene  did  not  sleep  again  that 
night,  and  in  the  morning  said  he  wanted  to  settle  off  and 
leave ;  for  he  was  "  afraid  of  them  fellers  that  went  about  in 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  217 

the  night  with  lanterns,  cuttin'  folks'  throats  just  for  takin' 
suthin'  to  warm  the  stomach."  So  he  left,  and  no  more 
ghosts  were  seen  or  heard  of  till  old  Joe  Pumpagin  made  his 
appearance  on  the  hill.  When  Nathan  asked  him  why  he 
was  so  curious  to  know  all  the  freaks  and  fantasies  of  the 
ghosts,  and  all  about  the  Gault  history,  he  replied  that  he  was 
of  an  inquiring  turn  of  mind,  and  it  was  because  of  that  that 
he  had  seen  and  learned  so  much,  and  was  so  full  of  knowl- 
edge. No  ignorant  man,  he  said,  could  tell  such  stories  as 
he  could,  and  have  them  all  true ;  and  this  was  because  he 
was  so  honest  and  particular  always  to  winnow  the  wheat 
from  the  chaff,  or  truth  from  falsehood.  Nobody,  he  said, 
could  get  round  him  with  their  big  stories ;  and  so,  as  he  was 
never  imposed  upon  by  others,  people  might  depend  on  all 
he  said  to  the  smallest  particular. 

In  his  visits  at  the  hill  in  former  times,  he  had  often  met 
the  children  of  Freeborn  Gomery.  But  he  never  could  have 
much  intimacy  with  them  in  their  grandmother's  lifetime,  as 
she  had  always  looked  upon  him  as  a  disreputable  character, 
having  no  employment,  or  means  of  support ;  and  such  a  per- 
son she  regarded  as  little  better  than  a  downright  criminal. 
But  in  these  later  days,  when  the  boys  visited  the  hill,  he 
soon  found  the  way  to  their  hearts  by  his  voluble  tongue,  his 
strange  adventures,  and  unceasing  good  nature.  He  was  not 
only  a  favorite  with  the  older  boys,  Theron  and  Wirt,  who 
highly  enjoyed  his  practical  jokes,  but  with  the  youngest, 
Walter,  he  soon  established  terms  of  the  most  confidential 
intimacy.  He  so  amused  them  with  his  oddities  and  experi- 
ences, that  they  used  to  report  them  to  their  parents;  and  their 
reports  confirming  so  well  the  testimony  of  Tench  Wales  in 
regard  to  his  amusing  character,  in  time  Joe  became  as  wel- 
come a  guest  in  the  parlor  of  the  Pivot  as  any  man  in 
the  village ;  and,  when  more  pretending  visitors  came  to  the 
house,  the  boys  would  steal  away  from  the  company  of  the 
parlor  to  sit  on  Joe's  knees  in  the  kitchen,  and  hear  him 
tell  of  what  he  had  seen  "  in  his  trips  to  the  Moon,  to  Jupi- 
ter, Saturn,  and  the  other  West-India  islands."  Besides 
telling  them  stories,  he  made  them  kites  and  pop-guns,  cross- 
bows and  arrows,  and  an  ingenious  water-wheel,  with  the 
gear  for  a  trip-hammer,  that,  by  striking  on  the  bottom  of 
an  old  tin  pan,  could  be  heard  at  the  house,  though  the  little 
brook  that  turned  the  wheel  was  nearly  half  a  mile  distant. 

19 


218  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

But  it  was  the  youngest  boy,  Walter, — the  hero  who,  in  his 
infantile  days,  had  protested  so  successfully,  at  the  time  of 
the  grand  ball,  against  being  exchanged  by  this  same  Joe,  — 
that  was  now  his  greatest  friend.  He  took  to  him  with  a 
strange  attachment;  and  every  night,  when  in  his  night- 
gown his  father  took  him  in  his  arms  to  rock  him  to  sleep, 
he  would  invariably  ask  for  "  Old  Joe."  He  knew  him  by  no 
other  name ;  and  when  he  came  and  knelt  down  at  his 
mother's  knee  to  say  his  evening  prayer,  if  asked  whom  he 
wanted  to  pray  for,  it  was  always  father,  mother,  brothers, 
sisters,  and  everybody  else,  and  "Old  Joe."  This  boy  Wal- 
ter was  very  different  from  all  the  other  Gomery  children ; 
and,  as  he  bids  fair  to  be  the  hero  of  this  book  (if  his  friend 
Joe  does  not  overshadow  him),  I  advise  the  reader  thus 
early  to  observe  his  peculiar  and  strange  traits  of  character. 
He  was  not  vivacious  and  playful  like  the  older  children, 
but,  even  at  this  age,  would  ask  questions  so  strangely  diffi- 
cult, that  he  was  looked  upon  as  an  oddity,  if  not  a  prodigy. 
He  would  never  engage  in  any  cruel  sport  at  the  expense 
of  dumb  animals ;  and  the  dog  and  cat,  if  hectored  by  the 
older  boys,  would  run  to  him  for  protection :  and  it  was  not 
till  overcome  by  force  that  he  would  allow  them  to  play 
their  tricks  on  these  friends  of  his.  Even  the  chickens  would 
come  about  him,  and  fear  nothing ;  though,  at  such  times,  the 
approach  of  an  elder  brother  would  send  them  clucking  from 
the  yard. 

He  was  soon  to  know  his  first  great  grief.  The  summer 
had  passed,  and  autumn  had  come,  and  brought  its  leaves  of 
gold  and  red,  with  the  fruit  burning  among  them.  Old  Joe 
had  been  his  constant  friend  during  the  whole  of  the  depart- 
ed season,  and  there  had  been  scarcely  a  day  when  he  had 
not  been  at  the  Pivot ;  and  he  was  equally  ready  at  all  times 
to  help  the  older  boys  through  with  their  "  stents"  if  there 
was  a  fishing  excursion,  or  any  other  juvenile  adventure  in 
prospect,  or  to  wander  about  the  woods  and  fields  with 
Walter,  telling  him  stories,  crossing  brooks  with  him  on  his 
back,  or  gathering  choice  apples  and  pears  to  send  to  some 
poor  woman  or  sick  child  in  the  neighborhood,  concerning 
whom  Walter  was  ever  inquiring. 

One  day,  Old  Joe  did  not  appear  at  the  Pivot.  Why,  they 
knew  not ;  and  though  Walter  was  impatient  and  discontent- 
ed, going  into  the  road  every  five  minutes,  and  casting  a 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  219 

glance  towards  the  town  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  well- 
known  form  heaving  up  the  hill,  yet,  when  the  night  came, 
he  went  off  to  bed  without  a  murmur,  though  he  got  his 
mother  to  promise,  that,  if  he  came  in  the  night,  he  should  be 
waked  up  to  see  him.  But,  as  he  did  not  appear  the  next 
day,  not  only  Walter,  but  Theron  and  Wirt,  became  so 
anxious  and  importunate,  that,  towards  night,  the  old  squire 
said  he  would  go  down  to  the  village  and  see  what  had  be- 
come of  him.  He  did  not  get  back  till  late,  and  till  long 
after  the  usual  bed-time  for  them  all :  but  this  night  they 
were  disinclined  to  retire  till  they  had  seen  or  heard  from 
their  friend ;  and  their  mother  acceded  to  their  wish,  until 
Theron  and  Wirt  fell  asleep  in  their  chairs,  when  unreluc- 
tantly  they  obeyed  her  orders  to  go  to  bed. 

But  there  were  no  signs  of  drowsiness  in  Walter :  he  sat 
bolt  upright  in  his  chair,  his  eyes  wide  open,  listening  intent- 
ly for  any  noise  or  sound  of  approaching  footsteps. 

"  He  is  a  strange  boy,"  said  his  mother  to  herself,  taking 
him  in  her  lap. 

"  You  like  Joe,  don't  you,"  said  she,  "  better  than  anybody 
else?" 

"ISTo,  mother,  —  not  better  than  you  or  papa,"  said  he 
thoughtfully.  "And  I  would  like  Theron  and  Wirt  a  great 
deal  better  if  they  would  not  plague  poor  Peleg  Skiff  so." 
Then,  reflecting  a  while,  he  said,  "Ain't  I  a  good  boy,  mother  ? 
Do  I  ever  make  a  noise,  or  plague  Towser  or  Puss,  as  Wirt 
does  ?  Do  I  ever  call  Peleg  names,  and  ask  about  his  pa,  and 
make  him  cry,  as  Theron  does  ?    Don't  I  do  all  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  darling  good  boy ! "  said  she,  giving  him  a 
kiss,  which  he  received  very  passively.  Then,  looking  at  his 
thoughtful,  anxious  face,  she  thought  how  different  he  was 
from  all  her  other  children,  how  thoughtful  of  others,  and  how 
affectionate  and  unselfish.  Can  an  organization  so  sensitive 
endure  this  rough  world,  and  grow  up  to  manhood  ?  She 
now  thought  of  the  weird  words  of  Goody  Wales  the  morn- 
ing after  the  great  ball,  and  cla'sped  her  child  convulsively  to 
her  heart.  But  no  sooner  did  she  unloose  her  embrace  than 
he  resumed  his  earnest  look  at  the  fire,  as  if,  in  the  bright 
coals,  he  was  reading  the  pages  of  futurity. 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  love  Old  Joe,  mother  ?  "  said  he. 

"Yes,  my  child  :  Joe  is  very  kind  to  you." 

"  Poor  Old  Joe !  He  has  no  children  and  no  wife  to  love 
him,  —  only  me.    Poor  Old  Joe ! " 


220  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

At  this  time  the  sound  of  steps  was  heard,  and  the  lawyer 
entered.  Laying  aside  his  hat  and  cane,  and  calling  the  boy 
to  him,  he  said,  "  Well,  my  good  boy,  why  are  you  not 
abed?" 

"  I  wanted  to  hear  about  Old  Joe." 

"  Well,  I  have  seen  him  this  evening  at  the  tavern,  and 
he  is  not  very  well.  I  hope  he  will  be  better  before  long, 
and  then  he  will  come  and  see  you."  The  eyes  of  the  boy 
were  suffused  with  tears ;  but  he  only  said  he  wanted  to  go 
to  bed.  He  was  accordingly  gratified ;  and,  after  his  mother 
returned  from  seeing  him  well  covered  and  tucked  in,  she 
inquired  more  particularly  for  the  sick  man,  and  her  husband 
said,  that,  from  what  he  could  learn,  the  romancer  had  not 
been  quite  well  for  a  week  or  two  preceding.  Unfortunately, 
when  he  returned  to  the  tavern  two  evenings  before,  he 
encountered  some  travellers  of  a  social  turn,  who  had  stopped 
there  for  the  night.  Joe,  as  usual,  must  entertain  them  with 
stories,  and  with  his  favorite  beverage,  flip.  He  began  by 
telling  of  his  wonderful  adventures  in  unheard-of  parts  of 
the  earth ;  and,  for  every  story  he  told,  one  of  the  travellers 
gave  another,  if  possible  more  extravagant  and  absurd.  The 
flip  flowed  freely ;  and,  as  Joe  found  that  in  story-telling  he 
was  getting  the  worst  of  it,  he  thought  he  would  put  his  an- 
tagonist hors  de  combat  by  aid  of  the  potent  flip.  But 
though  the  traveller  swallowed  it  fearlessly,  and  called  for 
more,  he  only  grew  more  glib  of  tongue,  and  more  prolific  of 
marvellous  tales;  and  at  last  Joe  got  so  thick  of  utterance, 
that  he  could  not  go  on,  and  was  obliged  to  retire  from  the 
field,  which  he  could  only  do  by  the  aid  of  Diller  and  Phile- 
mon, who  supported  him  to  his  room,  which  he  had  not  left 
since.  The  combined  effect  of  the  flip  and  of  the  discomfit- 
ure so  prostrated  him,  that  the  next  morning  he  was  too  sick 
to  leave  his  bed  ;  and  Doctor  Purkitt,  being  called  in,  said  he 
had  a  severe  and  very  dangerous  fever.  During  that  day,  he 
had  been  allowed  to  see  no  one  but  the  physician  and  Tench 
Wales,  who  acted  as  watcher  and  nurse,  till  Lawyer  Gomery 
arrived,  who,  as  the  important  man  of  the  village,  was  allowed 
to  transgress  rules  that  all  others  must  respect. 

The  next  morning,  Walter  was  up  before  any  of  the  rest 
of  the  family,  and,  as  soon  as  he  was  dressed,  was  for  going 
off  to  see  his  friend  Joe.  But,  when  his  father  came  down, 
he  told  him  he  must  wait,  and  that  Ethan  should  go  to  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  221 

village  to  get  some  wheat  and  corn  ground  at  the  mill,  and 
should  inquire  and  bring  back  word  about  Joe.  Poor  Walter 
was  but  illy  satisfied  with  this  arrangement,  but,  as  usual, 
submitted  without  a  murmur,  and  went  quietly  out  to  look 
after  his  ducks  and  chickens.  But  when  the  breakfast-hour 
came,  and  he  took  his  little  high  chair  at  the  table  by  his 
mother's  side,  he  barely  tasted  the  cup  of  sweet  bread  and 
milk  that  was  set  before  him,  and  said  he  couldn't  eat  it.  So 
he  got  down  from  his  high  chair,  and  went  back  to  his  ducks. 
It  was  almost  noon  before  Ethan  returned ;  and  the  news 
he  brought  was,  that  "  he  wa'n't  no  better,  and,  if  any  thing, 
a  little  wuss."  He  also  brought  from  the  village  a  box  of 
fruit  which  had  been  sent  from  a  town  far  to  the  south  of 
Montgomery  by  some  of  the  distant  relations  of  Mrs.  Gom- 
ery.  It  had  been  left  at  the  Eagle  late  the  night  before, 
and  Ethan  brought  it  up  to  the  Pivot  on  his  return.  It 
was  a  strong  box,  about  a  foot  long  by  six  inches  in  breadth 
and  depth,  and,  when  opened,  appeared  to  be  filled  with 
nicely  packed  cotton  ;  but,  on  removing  the  first  layer  of 
this,  the  sight  of  some  large  blushing  peaches,  with  the  down 
yet  on  them,  was  revealed.  Theron  and  Wirt  were  each  given 
one  of  the  finest  and  ripest ;  which  they  quickly  disposed  of, 
and  came  back  clamorous  for  more.  Walter  also  had  one 
given  to  him  ;  but,  instead  of  devouring  it  as  the  others  had 
done,  he  carried  it  up  to  his  sleeping  chamber,  where  he  had 
a  little  box  for  keeping  his  juvenile  riches.  In  this  he  care- 
fully laid  his  peach,  and  covered  it  with  a  piece  of  paper,  so 
that  Theron  or  Wirt  should  not  discover  it  if  they  chanced 
to  pry  into  his  treasury.  He  then  returned  to  the  sitting- 
room,  and  all  were  promised  another  at  supper-time ;  and, 
after  that,  each  was  to  have  one  morning,  noon,  and  evening, 
till  they  were  all  gone.  The  proposition  was  demurred  to 
by  all  three  of  the  boys,  who  insisted  that  their  father  and 
mother  should  come  in,  at  least,  on  equal  shares.  This  being 
conceded,  the  box  was  put  away  till  evening.  When  the 
hour  for  distribution  came  round,  Theron  and  Wirt  always 
had  a  contest  for  the  largest  one ;  and,  after  this  was  settled 
by  lot,  Theron  was  ever  ready  to  sell  out  to  Wirt  for  some- 
thing less  perishable  than  peaches,  and  the  latter  was  disposed 
to  gratify  his  palate  at  the  expense  of  his  pennies  and  "  fo'- 
pences."  But,  as  they  could  seldom  agree  on  the  value  of 
the  perishables,  the  result  generally  was,  that,  after  much  hag- 

19* 


222  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

gling  and  many  offers,  they  ended  by  each  devouring  his 
own,  and  calling  the  other  mean  and  stingy.  But  Walter 
always  went  away  by  himself;  and,  as  his  brothers  supposed 
it  was  to  eat  his  peach  alone,  Wirt  called  him  a  pig,  and 
Theron  a  sneak. 

Every  day,  Walter  inquired  several  times  about  his  old 
friend  Joe.  But  no  cheering  word  came  to  him.  Every 
day  the  report  was  that  he  was  "  no  better ; "  and  the  squire 
and  his  wife  both  knew  that  no  better  meant  worse.  So  one 
afternoon,  when  the  two  older  boys  were  away  in  the  woods 
gathering  beech-nuts,  and  Walter  was  down  looking  at  the 
trip-hammer  that  had  got  out  of  gear  during  the  absence 
of  Joe,  it  was  resolved  that  they  would  drive  down  to  the 
village,  and  call  and  see  the  sick  man.  Mrs.  Gomery  took 
with  her  some  strawberry-preserves,  some  raspberry-shrub, 
some  sago,  and  other  niceties,  such  as  are  usually  given  to 
sick  and  convalescent  people. 

Poor  Joe  was  indeed  very  sick :  but  the  honor  and  kindness 
which  the  squire  and  his  wife  had  shown  him  by  coming  to 
visit  him  went  right  home  to  his  heart ;  and  his  face  bright- 
ened up  with  a  sense  of  gratitude  as  the  handsome  Mrs. 
Gomery  sat  down  by  the  side  of  his  bed,  and  began  to  ques- 
tion him  of  his  condition.  The  fever  had  been  running  for 
several  days  with  great  violence,  and  gave  as  yet  no  signs  of 
abatement  or  turning.  It  was  difficult  for  the  poor  man  to 
talk ;  though  he  inquired  about  the  boys,  and  especially  for 
Walter.  When  the  good  woman  told  how  hardly  he  had 
taken  his  absence,  and  how  he  went  about  restless  and  dis- 
contented, inquiring  for  him  many  times  each  day,  the  inva- 
lid smiled,  and,  evidently  affected,  said,  "  Then  there  is  some- 
body that  cares  for  Old  Joe,  after  all.  Do  let  him  come'  and 
see  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  may  come,"  answered  the  lawyer ;  "  but  perhaps 
he  had  better  wait  a  few  days  till  you  are  stronger." 

"  No,"  said  Joe.  "  Let  him  come  to-morrow.  Perhaps  — 
no,  it  can't  be  :  my  work  is  not  done.  Oh,  well !  no  matter. 
Let  him  come  to-morrow."  He  could  say  no  more,  and  the 
visitors  withdrew. 

On  their  way,  Mrs.  Gomery  asked  her  husband  what  Joe 
meant  when  he  said  his  work  was  not  done. 

"  I  can't  imagine.  There  is  some  mystery  about  that  man 
quite  incomprehensible  to  me.  If  he  lives,  I  may  find  it  out ; 
but  I  fear  it  will  die  with  him.    His  hours  are  few." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  223 

As  they  approached  their  home,  they  met  Walter  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  from  the  house,  coming  to  meet  them.  Though  all 
the  boys  had  been  warned  not  to  go  so  far  from  home 
without  leave,  yet  the  parents,  knowing  what  had  induced 
him  to  go  astray  at  this  time,  did  not  have  it  in  their  hearts 
to  say  a  word  to  him,  but  stopped  for  him  to  get  into  the 
chaise  ;  when  his  mother  took  him  in  her  lap,  and  pressed  him 
in  her  arms  more  fondly  than  ever  before.  She  had  been 
proud  of  her  other  children ;  but  this  one  developed  such  pre- 
mature affection,  such  filial  love,  and  precocious  moral  quali- 
ties, that  her  heart  yearned  towards  him  with  a  depth  of 
feeling  that  she  had  never  before  experienced.  She  looked 
into  his  calm  thoughtful  eyes  until  her  own  were  suffused  and 
well-nigh  overflowed.  Then  with  an  effort  she  controlled 
herself,  and  told  him  that  that  they  had  seen  Joe,  and  that 
to-morrow  afternoon  they  were  going  to  see  him  again ;  and 
he  might,  if  he  was  a  good  boy,  go  with  them. 

"  Me  a  good  boy,  mother?"  said  he;  "  ain't  I  always  a  good 
boy  ?  "  and,  at  the  reflection  her  words  implied,  he  burst  into 
tears. 

But,  when  evening  came,  he  appeared  more  sprightly  and 
cheerful  than  he  had  been  for  days.  He  prattled  of  the  good 
times  he  expected  to  have  when  Old  Joe  got  well ;  of  the 
promised  visit  to  Obededom  Homer,  who  had  but  a  little 
before  met  with  a  serious  accident,  having  had  his  ankle-bone 
shivered  very  badly,  so  that  it  could  not  be  got  into  place 
again  by  the  doctors,  in  consequence  of  which  he  suffered 
constant  and  excessive  pain.  Then  he  would  carry  Obed- 
edom some  of  the  best  apples  in  the  orchard  and  his  new 
bow-gun  that  Joe  had  made  for  him,  and  was  as  enthusias- 
tic as  was  "  my  Uncle  Toby  "  when  enumerating  all  he  pro- 
posed to  do  for  poor  Lefevre.  And,  besides  all  this,  he  was 
going  with  Joe,  to  take  some  good  warm  clothes,  some  tarts 
and  "  goodies  "  that  his  mother  had  promised  him,  to  the 
poor  wicked  woman  that  lived  all  alone  in  a  little  house,  and 
whom  nobody  but  his  mother  ever  went  to  see,  because  all  the 
folks  said  she  was  so  wicked.  Since  her  little  boy  Peleg 
died,  that  never  had  any  father,  she  had  lived  all  alone,  and 
was  very  poor ;  for  nobody  in  the  village  would  give  her  any 
thing  to  do,  because  of  her  great  sin,  except  Mrs.  Gomery. 
She,  however,  could  defy  the  public  sentiment  and  the  anath- 
emas of  tl;e  persons  who  professed  to  be  following  Him  who 


224  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

had  said,  "  Neither  do  I  condemn  thee :  go,  and  sin  no  more." 
This  poor  woman  wore  not  the  visible  scarlet  letter ;  but  it 
was  nathless  ever  burning  into  her  breast.  She  passed 
unrecognized  through  the  village ;  or,  if  noticed  at  all,  it  was 
by  heartless  boys,  who  jeered  her  as  she  passed.  Caleb 
Thornton,  it  is  true,  bought  her  finely  knit  stockings  and 
mittens,  and  never  cheapened  them ;  and  Mrs.  Gomery  gave 
her  the  wool  for  their  manufacture,  besides  which  she  sent 
her  many  little  presents  of  fresh  meat,  of  fruits  and  vegeta- 
bles. But  these  people,  as  we  have  seen,  were  regarded  by 
Parson  Millson  and  his  flock  as  not  only  spiritually  blind, 
but  as  worse  than  the  infidel.  The  lonely  and  friendless  con- 
dition of  this  outcast  had  often  excited  the  sympathy  and 
inquiry  of  Walter ;  and  it  had  been  at  his  suggestion  that 
many  a  delicacy  had  been  sent  to  her  from  the  Pivot.  This 
evening,  as  the  prospect  of  Joe's  return  loomed  up  before 
him,  his  thoughts  were  only  of  doing  good  to  the  unhappy 
and  afflicted.  His  mother  listened  to  his  enthusiastic  plans, 
and  could  hardly  keep  back  the  tears  as  she  thought  of  the 
disappointment  that,  in  all  probability,  awaited  him.  She 
could  not,  however,  bring  herself  to  communicate  her  fears 
that  Joe  had  played  his  last  trick  and  told  his  last  story. 
But  the  words  of  Goody  Wales,  the  night  after  the  great 
ball,  came  to  her  recollection  ;  and  she  withdrew  to  her  own 
room  to  indulge  in  a  gush  of  tears. 

"  Ah,  Walter,  Walter !  —  what  an  oddity  you  were,  to  be 
sure  !  and  what  a  task  is  upon  me  to  bring  you  through  the 
world !  Will  you  be  hanged  or  translated  ?  Your  destiny 
points  to  one  of  these  extremes.  You  have  come  upon  me 
with  such  qualities  as  the  great  masters  never  ascribed  to 
their  characters,  except  purposely,  and  with  malice  prepense, 
to  kill  them  off  prematurely ;  and  how  can  you  expect  to 
fare  in  such  bungling  hands  Z  But  courage  :  yours  is  not  to 
be  the  fate  of  little  Nell,  nor  of  Eva,  nor  of  the  traditional 
"good  little  boy  that  died." 

The  next  day,  after  dinner,  the  old  horse  and  chaise  were 
brought  to  the  door ;  and  Walter,  in  his  Sunday's  best,  was 
eager  to  set  out.  But,  just  as  they  were  ready  to  start,  he 
ran  up  stairs  to  his  own  room,  and  brought  down  a  small  box 
under  his  arm.  "  What  is  that  ?  "  said  his  mother,  taking  it 
from  him.  The  boy  was  half  reluctant  to  give  it  up ;  but  his 
mother  nevertheless  took  and  opened  it,  and  found  on  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  225 

top  some  loose  cotton,  beneath  which  were  all  the  peaches 
that  had  been  given  him  (save  two  that  he  had  sent  to  Obed- 
edom  Homer),  and  which  they  had  all  supposed  had  been 
eaten  at  the  time.  But,  alas !  the  peaches  were  all  rotten. 
"  My  dear  boy,"  said  his  mother,  placing  the  box  on  the  table, 
"  you  are  a  good  boy,  and  I  will  tell  Joe  how  you  remem- 
bered him ;  but  your  peaches  are  all  spoiled."  Walter  burst 
into  tears  at  this ;  and  the  old  squire,  who  found  his  eyes 
getting  moist,  went  out,  and  stood  beside  the  carriage. 
"Boys,"  said  the  mother  to  Theron  and  Wirtimir,  "you 
called  Walter  a  pig  and  a  sneak ;  yet,  while  you  ate  up  all 
your  peaches,  he  saved  his  for  his  poor  sick  friend.  Who  is 
the  pig,  I  would  like  to  know,  now  ?  "  The  boys  stole  away 
abashed  to  the  task  that  their  father  had  set  them  at  gathering 
apples ;  but  they  soon  forgot  their  shame  and  self-condem- 
nation in  the  amusement  they  found  in  throwing  the  apples 
at  each  other. 

On  the  way  to  the  village,  Mrs.  Gomery  held  her  boy  in 
her  lap.  She  could  see  that  he  was  sorely  troubled  in  spirit ; 
and,  for  fear  that  he  should  break  forth  in  tears,  she  made  no 
allusion  to  Joe.  Thinking,  however,  to  divert  his  attention, 
she  asked  him  what  he  had  been  doing  during  the  morning. 

"I  was  at  the  spring,  watching  the  angels.  I  have  watched 
'em  a  great  many  times  to  see  the  tears  run  down  their  faces ; 
but  I  never  saw  them  till  yesterday." 

"  Who  has  told  you  any  thing  about  the  *  Weeping  An- 
gels'?" 

"  Old  Joe :  he  says  that  they  often  weep  at  night  at  the 
hour  the  poor  Gault  Family  was  killed ;  and,  when  any  danger 
is  nigh,  they  weep  all  the  time.  Last  night  the  water  was 
trickling  down  and  dropping  into  the  spring,  and  this  morn- 
ing too." 

"  Have  you  ever  noticed,  Freeborn,  any  thing  in  regard  to 
this  superstition  of  the  '  Weeping  Angels  '  ?  " 

"  I  have  noticed  that  the  water  trickles  down  from  above 
at  some  seasons  of  the  year,  and  not  at  others,  and  from 
those  points  of  the  rock  in  the  arch  overhead,  that,  in  the  twi- 
light, seem  to  be  the  heads  of  human  figures.  But,  with  a 
strong  light,  no  fancy  could  imagine  such  a  resemblance. 
The  Indians,  it  is  said,  gave  them  the  name  of '  Weeping  An- 
gels ; '  and  it  is  probably  one  of  their  superstitions,  that  these 
tears  portend  catastrophe." 


226  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

When  the  lawyer,  with  his  wife  and  son,  reached  the  tav- 
ern, they  found  there  a  number  of  people,  who  had  collected 
from  a  sense  of  mingled  curiosity  and  sympathy.  A  doctor 
of  considerable  local  eminence,  named  Keezar,  from  Tivernet, 
had  been  called  in  to  add  his  mite  to  the  vast  quantity  stored 
in  the  head  of  Doctor  Purkitt.  Squire  Gomery  had  given 
orders  the  day  before  to  have  him  sent  for,  as,  in  his  opin- 
ion,—  to  use  his  own  figure,  —  Purkitt  knew  as  much  of 
medicine  as  a  hen  knew  of  geometry.  The  two  were  in  con- 
sultation over  the  sick  man  at  the»time  of  the  lawyer's  arri- 
val ;  but  directly  they  came  down  from  the  sick  man's  cham- 
ber, and  the  squire  asked  the  Tivernet  doctor  for  a  few 
words  in  private  with  him.  Little  I)iller,  whose  ears  were 
ever  open,  showed  them  into  his  wife's  parlor,  Mrs.  Gomery 
accompanying  them ;  while  "Walter  was  left  in  the  entry, 
exposed  to  have  his  already  overwrought  sympathies  still 
more  excited  by  the  undertone  expressions  of  those  around 
him.  Doctor  Purkitt  thought  it  very  strange  that  he  was 
not  invited  to  this  conference  on  the  case ;  and,  on  being 
asked  how  the  patient  was,  said  "  he  had  been  doing  very 
well ;  and,  if  he  had  been  left  alone,  he  would  have  had  him 
out  in  a  few  days.  But  he  could  not  answer  for  what  these 
new-fangled  doctors  might  do." 

"When  the  door  of  the  parlor  had  been  closed,  the  physician 
was  asked  to  state  frankly  and  fully  what  was  the  actual  con- 
dition of  the  patient.  To  this,  Doctor  Keezar  replied  that 
the  fever  had  run  its  course,  and  at  the  same  time  it  had  run 
the  patient  so  low,  that  it  was  doubtful  if  he  had  life  enough 
left  in  him  to  rally.  "  The  disease,"  he  continued,  "  is  ex- 
hausted. He  is  alive,  it  is  true ;  and  that  is  all.  There  is  no 
force  nor  strength  nor  vitality  left.  If  by  any  means  a  re- 
action could  be  got  up,  he  would  doubtless  recover ;  and  it  is 
possible  he  may  float  over  the  crisis,  and,  without  any  extra- 
neous aid,  survive.  It  is  barely  possible,  and  that  is  all.  But, 
without  some  turn,  the  little  life  left  cannot  long  continue. 
He  lies  just  hovering  on  the  brink  of  two  worlds;  and  the 
scale  is  so  nicely  balanced,  that  the  least  thing  will  turn  it 
either  way.  If  by  any  expedient  his  nerves  could  be  ex- 
cited, or  his  mind  impressed  by  some  story,  pleasurable  rem- 
iniscence, or  emotion,  he  would  recover.  But  I  have  ex- 
hausted my  ingenuity,  and  he  lies  still  dormant ;  and  ere  long, 
unless  there  is  a  reflux,  the  little  life  left  must  ebb  away." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  227 

"  Let  us  go  up  and  see  him,  Freeborn,"  said  Mrs.  Gomery. 
"  Perhaps  we  can  say  something  to  revive  him  or  make  him 
laugh." 

"  Do  it,  and  I  then  shall  have  strong  hopes  of  him,"  said 
the  doctor. 

They  all  left  the  parlor  and  went  up  stairs,  and  were  met 
at  the  door  of  Joe's  room  by  his  ever-faithful  friend,  Tench 
Wales.  Mrs.  Gomery  with  an  affected  lightness  approached 
his  bedside,  and  said,  "  Well,  how  are  you  to-day  ?  Better, 
I  hope."  The  only  answer  to  this  was  a  slight  raising  of  the 
eyelids.  The  lawyer  now  spoke  up,  and  said,  "  Joe,  they  say 
you  are  likely  to  kick  the  bucket,  and  I  have  come  up  to  make 
out  your  will  for  you.  Of  course,  you  will  want  to  provide 
for  your  namesakes,  who  were  to  have  cows  and  money,  and 
a  great  many  other  things,  when  you  got  to  be  a  lord ;  and 
also  for  those  of  your  sister  Nancy,  who  died  in  the  poor- 
house." 

This  sally  of  the  lawyer,  recalling  to  his  mind  the  inci- 
dents of  the  great  ball,  caused  the  eyelids  again  to  move ; 
and  even  the  faint  glimpse  of  a  smile  could  be  seen.  But  it 
was  only  for  a  moment.  The  lawyer  looked  at  Dr.  Keezar, 
who  shook  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say, "  Too  later  Just  then, 
Walter,  who  had  remained  in  the  back-ground,  crept  up 
quietly  to  the  bedside,  and,  in  a  voice  that  was  not  to  be 
mistaken  by  Joe  even  at  this  low  tide  of  life,  said,  "  Old  Joe, 
Old  Joe,  little  Walter  has  come  to  see  you."  The  eyes  now 
opened  wide ;  a  decided  smile  lit  up  the  sick  man's  features ; 
he  drew  a  longer  and  a  stronger  breath ;  the  ebbing  tide  was 
turned,  and  the  way  of  Joe  Pumpagin  set  once  more  towards 
life  and  the  world. 


228  GOMEBY  OF  MONTGOMERY: 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

u  The  pang,  the  curse,  with  which  they  died, 
Had  never  passed  away."  —  Coleridge. 

"The  fathers  have  eaten  sour  grapes,  and  the  children's  teeth  are  set  on 
edge."  —  Ezekiel. 

Though  the  story-teller  began  to  improve  from  the  time 
of  the  event  described  in  the  last  chapter,  yet  he  was  so  very 
low,  that  the  change  was  for  some  time  almost  imperceptible, 
and  it  was  several  weeks  before  he  was  able  to  get  up  to  the 
Pivot.  There  was  not  at  first  life  or  strength  enough  left  in 
him  to  start  upon  with  any  degree  of  momentum.  But  he 
improved  in  a  sort  of  geometrical  ratio,  —  the  little  that  he 
gained  one  day  enabling  him  to  gain  twice  as  much  the 
next,  —  until  he  was  able  to  sit  up;  and  then  his  improve- 
ment was  very  rapid.  And,  a  few  days  after  that,  Lawyer 
Gomery  came  one  fine  November  morning  to  the  tavern 
with  his  old-fashioned  "  one-horse  shay,"  and  took  hirn  out  for 
a  drive  in  the  brisk,  invigorating  air.  A  few  days  after  this, 
the  lawyer  came  again ;  and  this  time  he  was  accompanied  by 
Walter,  when  the  convalescent  was  taken  to  the  Pivot, 
where,  though  still  pale  and  weak,  he  soon  felt  himself  to  be 
a  well  man"  Walter  every  day  watched  the  spring.  The 
next  day  after  his  visit,  he  told  his  mother  that  the  angels 
did  not  drop  their  tears  half  so  fast  as  on  the  day  before  ;  and, 
a  few  days  after  that,  he  came  running  in  with  great  joy,  and 
said  they  had  ceased  entirely. 

One  day  the  squire  sent  Walter  to  request  Joe  to  come  to 
his  private  room.  The  summons  was  obeyed ;  and  Walter 
was  told  to  go  and  join  his  brothers,  and  not  to  return  for  an 
hour.  The  lawyer  begged  Joe  to  be  seated,  saying  he  de- 
sired to  have  a  long  talk  with  him.  The  perplexed  victim 
obeyed,  looking  confused,  guilty,  and  comical.  He  knew 
enough  of  Freeborn  Gomery  to  know  that  he  was  not  to  be 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  229 

cajoled  or  trifled  with,  and  that,  though  he  could  brave  with 
indifference  and  contempt  a  whole  crowd  of  bar-room  doubt- 
ers of  his  stories,  he  could  not  impose  upon  the  stern,  search- 
ing, practised  lawyer;  and  he  felt  that  the  words  would  stick 
in  his  throat  if  he  attempted  deception  under  the  clear,  hon- 
est eye  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery. 

"  Mr.  Pumpagin,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  you  have  been  a  great 
traveller,  and  have  seen  much  of  the  world,  and,  in  the 
course  of  your  vagabond  life,  have  picked  up  a  great  deal  of 
information ;  and,  with  your  rich  imagination  and  total  dis- 
regard of  truth,  you  make  yourself  vastly  entertaining  to  the 
idle  crowds  that  you  collect  around  you." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Joe;  "but  my  stories  don't  do  any 
harm." 

"You  have  had  a  strange,  eventful  life;  and  that  which 
you  have  always  led  about  here  has  been  one  of  consummate 
acting,  —  in  other  words,  false  and  affected.  You  have 
feigned  an  ignorance  and  carelessness  that  were  not  yours. 
You  have  pretended  to  a  life  without  purpose,  when  you 
have  been  actuated  by  deep  design;  and  you  have  dis- 
guised your  real  character  so  well,  that,  save  Mrs.  Gomery 
and  myself  and  Tench  Wales,  no  one  suspects  that  you  are 
any  thing  else  than  what  you  pretend  to  be.  With  your  boon 
companions  you  purposely  use  language  coarse,  ungrammati- 
cal,  and  low ;  but,  when  you  talk  to  my  children,  you  are 
always  severely  correct,  and  reprimand  them  for  errors  of 
expression  that  few  people  would  detect.  Hence  I  have 
heard  it  said,  that,  when  you  are  well  charged  with  flip,  you 
use  better  language  than  when  strictly  sober.  To  me  this  is 
proof  that  your  bad  English  is  affected,  and  that  you  use  it 
as  a  blind  for  some  purpose,  that,  as  yet,  I  do  not  understand. 
Now,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  think  me  distrustful  or  suspicious ; 
but,  as  I  see  that  you  are  assuming  a  character  not  your  own, 
it  is  my  duty  to  my  children,  before  you  are  allowed  to  asso- 
ciate with  or  influence  them  further,  to  know  what  is  the 
drift,  the  object,  of  all  this  acting,  —  this  assumption  of  an 
unreal  character.  Your  familiar  and  winning  ways  with  chil- 
dren show  a  natural  tact  and  refinement  that  ill  comports  with 
the  boisterous  mirth  you  display  among  the  coarse  natures 
that  delight  to  gather  around  you  and  listen  to  your  fantas- 
tic, absurd  stories,  and  drink  grog  at  your  expense.  I  have 
thought  much  about  you  of  late,  and  have  tried  to  imagine 
20 


230  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

a  reason  why  you  should,  for  so  long  a  time,  assume  a  char- 
acter not  your  own.  But  I  am  still  all  in  the  dark  ;  and  now 
either  all  acquaintance  and  intimacy  must  be  broken  off,  or 
I  must  hear  from  your  own  lips  something  of  your  true 
history." 

Joe  sat  bolt  upright  in  his  chair  during  this  harangue  of 
the  lawyer,  at  first  looking  quizzical  and  humorous,  but  after- 
wards surprised  and  serious.  The  lawyer  looked  steadily  in 
his  face  for  a  reply ;  and  he  said,  "  Well,  square,  you  give  me 
credit  for  more  wit  than  anybody  else.  I  was  not  aware 
I  was  such  a  dangerous  character.  I  believe  I  have  ex- 
plained to  other  people  satisfactorily  my  course  of  life,  and 
how  it  happens  that  I  am  situated  as  I  am." 

"  Evasion  with  me  will  not  do.  I  know  very  well  your 
condition  when  you  left  here,  now  nearly  three  years  ago ; 
and  I  know,  that  though  you  had  not  a  dollar  then,  yet  two 
years  afterwards  you  returned  with  a  large  sum  of  money." 

"  I  explained  how  I  got  it  to  the  people  at  the  tavern  the 
night  I  got  back,  just  so  there  needn't  be  any  mistake  or 
wonder  about  it.    Like  Othello,  I  told 

'  The  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  to  year ;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
That  I  have- passed. 

I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days, 
Wherein  I  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents,  by  flood  and  field  ; 
Of  hair-breadth  scapes  i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach ; 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe, 
And  sold  to  slavery  ;  of  my  redemption  thence, 
And  portance  in  my  travel's  history : 
Wherein  of  antres  vast  and  deserts  idle, 
Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven, 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak,  — such  was  the  process  ; 
And  of  the  cannibals  that  each  other  eat ; 
The  Anthropophagi,  and  men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders/  " 

"  Your  quotations  from  Shakspeare  are  very  well  in  your 
fancy  sketches,"  said  the  squire ;  "  but  I  ask  you  for  truth 
without  poetry  or  romance." 

"  But  I  find  it  so  easy  to  quote  Shakspeare  :  he  expresses 
my  ideas  so  much  better  than  I  can  myself. " 

"  No  matter  for  that :  tell  me  the  truth  in  your  own  Amer- 
ican vernacular  " 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  231 

"  Very  well,  square ;  just  as  you  say.  Down,  Shakspeare, 
down  !     Hide  your  diminished  head." 

"  I  heard,"  replied  the  lawyer,  not  heeding  the  equivocal 
compliment,  "  of  your  explanation  about  the  shipwreck,  and 
breaking  the  colt  in  the  deep  snow,  and  all  those  strange 
events  of  which  Deacon  Spinney  believed  every  word.  But 
the  truth  is  what  I  want ;  and  you  surely  can  have  no  good 
reason  to  withhold  it.  By  refusing  my  request,  you  betray  a 
lack  of  confidence  in  me,  and  put  me  to  an  unpleasant  neces- 
sity. You  know  full  well  I  can  have  no  person  of  so  myste- 
rious a  character,  and  so  doubtful  antecedents,  in  my  house, 
the  intimate  and  confidant  of  my  children." 

The  lawyer  said  this  so  sternly,  looking  the  horse-tamer 
all  the  while  full  in  the  eye,  that  Joe  saw  it  was  useless  to 
attempt  to  equivocate  further ;  that  he  must  either  say  noth- 
ing at  all,  or  tell  the  simple  truth,  —  a  thing  he  had  never 
been  known  to  do  within  the  memory  of  "  the  oldest  inhabit- 
ant." 

"  At  what  period  of  my  checkered  life  would  you  have  me 
begin?" 

"  Commence  from  the  time  that  you  left  here  three  years 
ago.    That  will  do  for  the  present." 

"  That  I  am  very  willing  to  do,  though  some  things  before 
that  I  must  reserve  to  another  time ;  but  some  day  you  shall 
know  it  all.  At  present,  it  would  advantage  neither  of  us 
were  I  to  make  a  full  revelation." 

"  Narrate,  then,  the  events  of  the  last  two  years,  and  as 
much  more  as  you  choose  to  make  known." 

Joe  now  drew  his  pipe  and  a  plug  of  tobacco  from  his 
pocket,  and  then,  taking  out  an  old  jack-knife,  began  cut- 
ting off  small  chips  of  the  Virginia  twist,  till  he  had  got 
enough  to  load  his  pipe ;  and  then,  lighting  it  with  a  coal, 
he  sat  back,  and  was  evidently  collecting  his  thoughts,  and 
recalling  to  mind  the  scenes  he  intended  to  describe.  At 
length  he  said,  "  You  remember  the  night  of  the  great  ball  ?  " 

"  Yes :  I  have  not  forgotten  it." 

"Well,  it  occurred  to  me,  after  the  babies  had  all  been 
properly  mixed  up  and  sent  off  in  the  arms  of  other  babies' 
mothers,  —  all  except  your  Walter,  and  he  wouldn't  mix  with 
common  folks,  —  that  it  would  be  a  good  time  for  me  to 
leave,  and  travel  in  foreign  parts.  Well,  you  must  know  that 
during  the  last  war  I  was  a  privateer,  and  was  in  at  the  cap- 


232  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

ture  of  two  British  vessels  that  were  sent  to  New  York  to 
be  condemned.  I  have  often  told  of  these  adventures,  but 
have  so  mixed  them  up  with  others,  that  people  put  little 
more  faith  in  them  than  in  my  trips  to  the  moon  or  the 
poles.  After  we  had  made  these  captures,  one  of  which  was 
a  very  valuable  one,  our  ship  was  captured  in  turn,  and  the 
crew  were  all  sent  to  England.  There  I  was  kept  a  prisoner 
till  after  peace  was  declared,  when  I  was  turned  adrift  in 
England ;  and  being,  as  you  know,  of  an  inquiring  turn  of 
mind,  I  thought  it  a  good  opportunity  to  see  a  bit  of  that 
little  island.  I  therefore  travelled  about  afoot  and  alone ; 
and,  though  I  hadn't  a  cent  of  money,  I  never  wanted  for 
any  thing." 

"How  was  that?"  inquired  the  lawyer.  "You  did  not 
help  yourself,  I  hope,  to  what  you  needed." 

"  Far  from  it.  I  had  wit,  if  I  hadn't  money.  I  knew 
something  of  human  nature;  and  when,  in  my  travels,  I 
came  to  a  house  that  looked  comfortable  and  snug  and  neat, 
and  saw  the  children  and  women-folks  about  the  door,  I 
would  go  up  and  begin  to  talk  with  'em.  Of  course,  it  didn't 
take  me  long  to  get  them  all  interested  in  my  adventures. 
Then  I  would  branch  off  to  the  last  war  with  America,  and 
wrould  inquire  if  any  of  their  friends  were  engaged  in  it ; 
and,  as  it  was  generally  the  case  they  knew  of  some  one  who 
had  been,  I  was  prepared  with  a  great  deal  of  information 
about  him.  If  killed,  I  had  seen  him  fighting  bravely;  and, 
if  wounded,  I  had  borne  him  from  the  field  on  my  own  shoul- 
ders ;  and,  if  he  had  escaped  unhurt  through  all,  I  could  tes- 
tify to  his  gallant  conduct  in  battle  on  several  occasions.  If, 
again,  he  had  never  returned,  and  they  knew  not  what  had 
become  of  him,  I  shrewdly  suspected  he  was  the  same  man, 

—  for  the  name  was  the  same,  —  that,  after  the  war  was  over, 
had  staid  in  the  country,  and  settled  down,  and  married  a 
Yankee  girl  for  a  wife,  who  was  a  second  cousin  of  mine, 

—  my  uncle  having  emigrated  forty  years  before, —  and  as  tidy 
and  likely  a  girl  as  any  in  them  parts.  With  such  conversa- 
tions I  would  beguile  the  time  till  I  saw  the  supper  prepar- 
ing, and  then  would  manage  to  be  in  the  middle  of  a  very 
interesting  story  just  as  it  was  ready.  Then  I  would  break 
short  off,  and  say, '  Ah !  I  see  your  supper  is  ready,  and  the 
poor  old  soldier  must  be  on  his  way.  My  poor  wife  and 
children  little  think  where  I  am;  that  after  fighting  long 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  233 

and  bravely  for  my  country,  and  being  shipwrecked,  and  cast 
away  among  the  savages,  I  am  on  my  way  to  my  old  home ; 
and  that  at  last,  having  escaped  all  the  other  dangers  by  sea 
and  land,  I  am  like  to  die  of  starvation  in  my  own  country; 
for  I  have  not  had  a  morsel  to  eat  for  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  have  no  place  to  sleep  but  under  the  broad 
sky.'  This  would  usually  be  sufficient  to  excite  the  compas- 
sion of  the  little  folks;  and  more  than  once  have  I  known 
the  little  girls  to  come  up  stealthily,  and  give  me  bread 
and  cheese  and  cakes,  and  such  things  as  had  been  given 
to  themselves  to  eat.  When  I  have  been  in  the  middle  of 
a  story  of  great  interest  (for  I  don't  need  to  invent  stories 
to  make  them  interesting,  after  all  I  have  seen  ;  for,  begging 
your  pardon,  Othello's  adventures  were  nothing  to  mine), 
telling  of  my  dangers  and  escapes,  I  have  had  little  girls, 
with  tears  in  their  eyes  beg  their  mothers  to  give  their  sup- 
pers to  me.  Thus  I  seldom  failed  of  getting  enough  to  eat ; 
and  sometimes  I  would  be  offered  a  bed,  and  sometimes 
would  be  allowed  to  sleep  on  the  sweet  hay  in  the  barn  or 
stack.  In  the  morning,  I  would  make  bold  to  ask  for  a  cut 
of  meat,  and  slice  of  bread :  and  this,  after  the  hospitalities 
of  the  night,  was  never  refused;  for,  having  gone  so  far,  they 
would  not  do  any  thing  niggardly  at  my  departure.  I  have 
always  found,  that,  if  you  can  get  a  little  bit  of  an  opening 
into  a  person's  heart,  you  can  soon,  with  tact  and  patience, 
walk  in  and  take  possession.  The  first  favors  are  then  a  sort 
of  capital  invested  in  charity ;  and  as  people  neither  wish  to 
lose  it,  or  acknowledge  it  was  badly  invested,  they  are  loath 
to  forfeit  your  good  opinion  afterwards,  which  was  the  con- 
sideration previously  received. 

"  I  had  wandered  about  for  five  or  six  weeks,  and  had  seen 
a  great  deal  of  England.  The  way  those  great  lords  live 
there  beats  any  thing  about  here.  Your  house  here  at  the 
Pivot  is  not  so  good  as  some  of  those  great  men  have  for 
their  hogs  and  horses.  They  had  such  grand  houses,  such  fine 
fences,  and  fields  so  closely  hedged  in,  and  all  that,  and  their 
servants  were  so  well  dressed,  and  looked  so  fat  and  saucy, 
that  I  thought  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  have  a  place 
among  them  as  keeper  or  hostler  or  butler,  or  any  thing  that 
gave  good  living  and  little  to  do.  You  may  be  sure  it  did 
not  take  me  long  to  get  inside  of  the  best  houses  in  England. 
Genius  triumphs  everywhere ;  and  I  flatter  myself  I  have 
30* 


234  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

my  share  of  that  available  commodity.  Hence  I  had  only 
to  get  into  conversation  with  one  of  the  servants,  when  I 
soon  made  myself  so  interesting,  that  I  was  cheek  by  jowl 
with  the  butler,  steward,  and  all  hands,  within  the  next 
twenty-four  hours.  In  fact,  of  an  evening,  I  often  held  a 
levee  in  the  kitchen,  where  came  all  the  servants  to  hear  my 
strange  and  amusing  stories;  and,  as  it  happened  that  an 
under-keeper  had  been  discharged,  the  butler  and  upper- 
keeper  managed  to  get  me  taken  in  his  place.  The  butler 
loaned  me  seven  pound  ten  shillings  to  get  me  a  uniform,  or 
livery ;  and  I  was  soon  set  up  in  as  good  style  as  any  lord  in 
England. 

"  In  return  for  all  my  stories,  the  servants  told  me  a  great 
deal  about  the  affairs  of  the  family.  The  present  lord  was  a 
man  not  far  from  sixty,  though  he  looked  older  in  the  face. 
He  was  tall,  spare,  and  erect ;  his  hair  white  as  snow,  and 
his  eye  restless  and  uneasy,  and  ever  turning  away  from 
whatever  object  might  be  before  it.  They  said  he  was  a  very 
irritable  and  unhappy  man,  and  there  were  strange  stories  of 
some  dreadful  thing  he  had  done  when  a  young  man.  He  had 
been  an  officer  in  the  army  during  the  Revolutionary  War, 
and  had  fought  against  our  troops  under  Arnold  and  Stark, 
and  lost  his  wife  during  one  of  his  campaigns  in  Canada. 
He  was,  at  that  time,  only  a  colonel  in  the  army ;  but  his 
elder  brother,  Lord  Maccleton,  died  soon  after  his  return 
from  America,  leaving  an  only  son,  who  also  died  during  his 
minority :  so  that  he  succeeded  to  the  Maccleton  title  and 
estates,  and  was  now  Lord  Maccleton.  His  daughter  by  his 
first  wife  he  carried  home  to  England,  where  she  was  brought 
up  with  great  care  by  her  father's  relatives ;  and,  as  she  was 
heiress  in  her  own  right  to  an  immense  property,  she  made 
what  was  called  a  splendid  marriage ;  that  is,  she  married 
into  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  aristocratic  families  in  Eng- 
land, though  it  was  said  to  have  been  recently  distinguished 
in  a  different  manner  from  that  which  distinguished  its  an- 
cestors and  founders,  who  had  won  their  estates  and  honor 
by  services  in  both  field  and  cabinet.  The  descendants, 
however,  were  only  eminent  for  their  misfortunes.  They 
had  nothing  left  but  their  titles,  having  squandered  every 
thing  else;  and  so  mortgaged  the  income  of  every  thing  they 
could  not  sell,  that  the  only  chance  for  the  young  lord  to 
redeem  himself  was  a  rich  marriage.    The  only  daughter  of 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  235 

Lord  Maccleton  had  the  one  essential  qualification ;  and 
though  she  had  a  strong  aversion  to  the  young  Lord  Beres- 
ford,  who,  at  thirty,  was  a  worn-out  roue,  yet,  at  the  imperi- 
ous mandate  of  her  father,  she  resigned  herself  to  the  grovel- 
ling rake.  As  there  was  no  love  on  either  side,  the  mar- 
riage was  mutually  unhappy. 

"By  judiciously  husbanding  the  income  of  his  daughter 
during  her  minority,  Lord  Maccleton,  at  the  time  of  coming 
into  the  old  family  estates  and  titles,  was  enabled  to  clear  off 
heavy  encumbrances,  to  make  many  and  extensive  improve- 
ments, and  to  maintain  a  style  and  retinue  worthy  of  the 
former  grandeur  of  the  family.  And  now,  being  a  peer  of 
the  realm,  he  was,  though  somewhat  advanced  in  years,  re- 
garded as  a  most  desirable  son-in-law  by  ambitious  mothers 
and  managing  dowagers.  The  fairest  belle  of  seventeen  in 
the  kingdom  might  think  herself  fortunate  in  such  a  match. 
His  hospitality  was  profuse ;  and  titled  dames  with  marriage- 
able daughters  were  not  backward  in  accepting  his  invita- 
tions to  Maccleton  Hall.  His  manner  was  not  agreeable,  as 
he  was  morose  and  silent  until  his  temper  was  mellowed  by 
wine ;  and  then  he  was  very  uncertain,  breaking  out  now  in 
fierce  passion,  and  then  indulging  in  terms  of  maudlin  ten- 
derness. 

"  This  part  of  my  story,  you  must  know,  squire,  happened 
before  my  last  visit  here,  and  does  not  come  within  the  last 
three  years ;  but  it  is  necessary  to  relate  it,  in  order  that  you 
may  understand  what  is  to  come  by  and  by." 

"  Well,  proceed." 

"Lord  Maccleton  was  not  at  all  displeased  at  the  hints 
thrown  out  by  his  guests,  that  his  establishment  was  not  com- 
plete without  a  mistress  as  well  as  a  master ;  and  in  the  course 
of  time  he  proposed  to  the  third  daughter  of  Lord  Totherly, 
who,  though  less  than  one-third  as  old  as  himself,  was  never- 
theless, under  the  influence  of  that  judicious  instruction  that 
is  so  cultivated  among  the  infallible  classes  in  England, 
already  prepared  to  confess  her  love.  The  marriage  was 
speedily  arranged,  and  as  beautiful  a  young  woman  as  ever 
trod  the  soil  of  England  was  transferred  by  all  the  forms  of 
the  Established  Church  to  the  bed  of  a  man  who  was  haunted 
through  the  world  by  the  ghost  of  his  former  crimes.  It  was 
a  great  wedding,  and  we  folks  in  the  kitchen  had  a  copy  of 
the  paper  that  gave  a  full  account  of  it,  and  which  added  that 


236  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

the  happy  couple  set  off  for  the  Continent  to  be  present  at 
certain  fetes  in  Paris  and  Vienna,  and  afterwards  were  to  re- 
turn to  Maccleton  Hall,  that  was  to  be  opened  with  more  than 
its  former  splendor. 

"  The  marriage  brought  nothing  but  fashion  and  misery  to 
the  young  wife.  Her  husband's  way  of  turning  his  eyes, 
now  this  way  and  now  that,  as  if  he  saw  in  all  directions 
something  that  it  pained  him  to  look  upon,  had  not  particular- 
ly struck  her  attention  before  marriage.  Indeed,  she  had  seen 
but  little  of  him  before  that  event,  as  the  arrangement  had 
been  made  by  her  parents,  and  she  had  dutifully  consented 
to  it.  She  only  knew  that  she  cared  nothing  for  him ;  but 
she  had  not  regarded  that  as  an  objection  to  her  marrying 
him,  as  she  had  grown  up,  under  the  influence  of  privileged 
exclusiveness,  to  think  that,  so  that  she  got  a  title  and  an  es- 
tate, it  was  of  small  account  what  she  got  for  an  encumbrance 
in  the  way  of  a  husband.  But,  when  compelled  to  be  in  the 
society  of  this  man,  she  could  not  avoid  noticing  his  pecu- 
liarity. He  could  not  gaze  on  an  illumination  in  Paris,  nor 
contemplate  the  wildest  and  grandest  scenery  of  the  Alps,  but 
some  horrid  figure  would  seem  to  rise  before  him,  and  compel 
him  to  turn  his  head  away,  and  in  an  instant  after  to  see 
again  the  same  phantom.  So  it  was  in  looking  at  the  finest 
paintings  of  Rubens,  of  Raphael,  and  Michael  Angelo,  in  the 
Louvre ;  and  so  in  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of  his  own  room. 
There  was  evidently  a  dreadful  apparition  always  present  to 
his  sight ;  and  the  manner  and  habit  of  the  man  in  trying  to 
avoid  it  soon  caused  his  young,  timid,  and  inexperienced 
wife  to  regard  him  with  aversion  and  terror.  But,  worse 
than  that,  his  wife  found  that  every  night,  from  the  hour  of 
eleven  until  four,  he  shut  himself  in  his  own  private  room, 
and  would  see  no  one.  She  asked  an  explanation  of  this, 
but  he  would  give  none;  and,  on  coming  to  the  hall,  she 
learned  that  this  had  always  been  his  practice,  and  the  ser- 
vants said  that  at  such  time  he  never  slept.  This  informa- 
tion added  greatly  to  her  fear  of  her  lord ;  and  her  aversion 
became  so  strong,  that  his  approach  inspired  her  with  terror 
and  disgust.  His  daughter,  the  Lady  Catherine,  whom  he 
had  brought  back  from  America  after  the  death  of  her  moth- 
er, had  been  already  married  off  to  Lord  Beresford ;  and  her 
husband  was  leading  such  a  life  of  dissipation  as  promised 
soon  to  leave  her  a  widow,  —  a  prospect  at  which  no  one  who 
knew  him  could  suppose  she  felt  any  great  anxiety. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  237 

"  Men  in  the  ordinary  walks  of  life,  who  have  not  grown 
up  in  the  belief  that  they  are  of  a  higher  order  than  the  gen- 
erality of  mankind,  and  consequently  entitled  to  peculiar  and 
special  immunities,  would  have  supposed  that  a  person  in 
Lord  Maccleton's  condition  and  mental  distress  would  have 
sought  by  good  deeds,  and  a  virtuous  and  repentant  life,  to 
have  conciliated  the  avenging  Nemesis  that  ever  confronted 
him.  But  I  observed  that  people  in  the  class  to  which  he 
belonged  had  little  idea  of  responsibility  to  the  general  world, 
or  of  reciprocal  obligations  between  them  and  their  fellow- 
men.  They  have  an  undoubting  faith  in  their  own  infallibili- 
ty, that  any  thing  that  differs  from  the  standard  set  up  by 
themselves,  whether  of  morals,  of  manners,  of  religion,  or 
politics,  must  be  wrong;  that  whatever  they  do  must  be 
right ;  and  that  the  complete  duty  of  man  consists  in  enrich- 
ing and  strengthening  the  privileged  classes,  and  in  circum- 
scribing and  restricting  the  power  and  influence  of  the  work- 
ing multitude.  If  they  concede  any  thing  to  the  latter,  it  is 
because  they  must,  and  not  because  it  is  right;  and  they 
think  it  strange  that  Heaven  permits  those  who  hold  divine 
privileges  to  be  fettered  and  restrained  by  those  that  the 
same  Heaven  has  ordained  to  be  their  subjects  and  depend- 
ants. 

"  Lord  Maccleton  was  one  of  this  class.  He  didn't  realize 
that  he  had  any  duties  except  to  those  of  his  own  rank. 
His  religion  was  found  in  the  peerage,  and  the  book  of  her- 
aldry was  the  evidence  of  the  divine  heritage ;  and,  though 
an  old  man  now,  all  his  thoughts  in  respect  to  the  future 
were  upon  the  succession  to  the  estates  and  title  of  Maccle- 
ton. In  the  course  of  the  first  three  years  of  his  married 
life,  his  wife  had  borne  him  a  son  and  a  daughter ;  and  his 
daughter,  Lady  Beresford,  had  also  given  birth  to  a  son  :  so 
that  every  thing  seemed  to  favor  his  ambitious  designs.  But 
about  a  year  after  the  birth  of  the  second  child,  the  daugh- 
ter, it  was  said  that  his  wife  received  a  letter  from  some  un- 
known source,  that  caused  her  to  loathe  the  very  sight  of  her 
husband.  He  had  long  been  an  object  of  aversion  to  her ; 
but,  after  this  ill-omened  letter  fell  into  her  hands,  he  became 
utterly  unbearable.  But  another  great  grief  awaited  this 
unhappy  woman.  Both  her  children  were  observed  to 
have  their  father's  habit  of  averting  their  eyes  from  some 
seemingly  disagreeable  object,  —  not  always,  and  in  all  places, 


238  GOMEET   OF   MONTGOMEEY  : 

like  him;  but  if,  alone  and  quiet,  they  looked  for  any  consid- 
erable time  in  one  direction,  there  seemed  to  rise  up  some 
disagreeable  object  that  made  a  painful  impression,  and 
caused  them  to  turn  their  heads  away  to  avoid  the  hideous 
sight.  It  was  clear  to  the  mother  that  her  children  had  in- 
herited the  peculiarity  of  their  father;  and  one  day,  observ- 
ing the  elder  one,  the  son,  gazing  on  a  distressful  sight  that 
was  to  herself  invisible,  and  begin  soliloquizing,  she  listened, 
and  overheard  such  expressions  as  these:  'What  a  pretty 
face !  Who  could  be  so  wicked  as  to  cut  her  so  ?  Ah,  the 
blood !  how  it  runs ! '  and  then  he  turned  away  his  eyes, 
and  for  a  time  was  apparently  as  blithesome  and  happy 
as  any  child  of  his  years.  But,  if  for  any  cause  his  eyes 
were  cast  in  any  direction  for  several  minutes,  the  appa- 
rition was  sure  to  rise,  and  compel  him  to  turn  away  to 
avoid  the  sight.  The  daughter  too,  young  as  she  was, 
showed  that  she  had  a  similar  infirmity;  for  she  did  not 
long  hold  her  gaze  in  any  one  direction,  in  the  manner 
3f  most  children.  Such  an  accumulation  of  sorrows  drove 
the  poor  woman  into  a  delirious  fever,  in  which  she  called 
her  husband  a  fiend  and  an  assassin,  and  said  he  might  well 
turn  his  eyes  away  from  the  woman  he  had  violated  and 
murdered ;  for  it  was  not  a  pretty  sight,  —  a  woman  with  her 
throat  cut.  Then  she  would  screech  and  scream,  and  tell  her 
attendants  to  take  him  away,  or  he  would  murder  her  too. 
But  the  poor  woman  did  not  live  long ;  and  the  servants 
who  had  heard  these  strange  imprecations  and  upbraidings 
were  immediately  sent  to  distant  parts,  though  not  before 
they  had  told,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  of  the  scenes  in  the 
sick  lady's  death-chamber. 

"These  things  had  all  happened  before  I  was  there;  but  I 
learned  them  all  from  the  servants  below  stairs.  The  days 
of  mourning  for  the  deceased  wife  were  past  when  I  was 
first  engaged  in  service,  and  the  hall  had  assumed  its  former 
appearance  of  cheerfulness  and  luxury.  There  was  much 
company  at  the  house,  of  the  most  exclusive  and  aristocratic 
sort ;  and  it  was  thought  that  my  lord  would  take  another 
wife.  But  his  object  had  been  obtained  by  his  second  mar- 
riage, as  it  had  brought  him  two  children,  who,  notwithstand- 
ing the  infirmity  they  had  inherited  from  him,  were,  never- 
theless, strong  and  healthy.  A  male  heir  to  the  Maccleton 
estates,  in  the  direct  line,  was  what  he  had  desired ;   and, 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  239 

as  he  had  secured  that,  his  dead  wife  was  soon  forgotten, 
and  he  had  no  reason  for  taking  another. 

"  Among  the  visitors  at  the  hall  were  some  rich  relatives 
of  Lord  Maccleton,  from  London.  Of  the  number  was  the 
family  of  a  great  banker,  who,  it  was  said,  had  made  his 
money  himself,  which  the  head  butler  and  steward  said  was 
not  considered  respectable,  and  that  we  were  not  to  show 
him  so  much  respect  as  Lord  Beresford,  who  had  spent  all 
he  had  inherited,  and  married  the  governor's  daughter  only 
for  her  money.  And  yet  they  said  the  banker  was  a  great 
man  too :  for  the  king  used  to  ask  his  advice  in  great  affairs, 
and  had  made  a  baronet  of  him ;  so  that  he  was  called  Sir 
Henderson  Strongham.  He  had  married  the  sister  of  Lord 
Maccleton  against  the  wishes  of  her  friends,  and  the  affair 
made  a  great  scandal  at  the  time;  and  her  family  cast  her 
off,  and  would  not  speak  to  her,  till  her  husband  got  to  be 
very  rich  and  a  baronet,  and  could  buy  out  all  the  Maccle- 
tons,  and  not  feel  it.  They  then  offered  to  forgive  the  erring 
daughter,  and  she  and  her  husband  were  very  glad  to  be 
forgiven ;  for  there  is  no  act  of  self-abasement  so  low,  but 
that  a  thorough  Englishman  will  submit  to  it,  if,  by  so  doing, 
he  can  secure  the  notice  of  the  old  aristocracy,  and  be  allowed 
an  inferior  position  within  their  charmed  circle.  I  speak,  I 
am  aware,  with  severity  and  prejudice ;  but  that  which 
I  have  seen  I  know ;  and,  if  I  am  prejudiced  against  Al- 
bion, surely  I  have  had  more  reason  to  be  so,  humble  and 
obscure  as  I  am,  than  any  man  that  ever  lived,  —  not  except- 
ing the  great  Bonaparte. 

"  I  staid  in  this  place  nearly  a  year ;  but  at  last  I  got  tired 
of  it.  The  fact  is,  I  never  made  my  bow,  and,  hat  in  hand,  said 
'  Your  lordship,'  but  what  I  felt  ashamed  of  myself.  The 
work  I  had  to  do  was  light,  but  the  pay  was  lighter.  The 
fare  was  good;  and  the  butler,  who  took  a  great  fancy  to 
me,  used  to  give  me  many  a  glass  of  wine  that  would  make 
my  eyes  sparkle.  He  had  a  buxom  daughter,  and  I  think 
he  wished  me  to  marry  her;  but  she  gave  me  such  evidences 
of  liking  me,  that  I  thought  it  not  worth  while  to  pay  any 
fee  for  license  or  clergyman.  In  fact,  the  morals  below 
stairs  were  very  loose ;  and  such,  I  was  told,  was  the  case  with 
the  servants  of  all  the  nobility.  The  young  lords,  and  even 
the  old  ones  too,  play  the  very  devil  with  the  daughters  of 
their  domestics ;  and  the  latter  have  such  a  reverence  for  ti- 
tles and  noble  blood,  that  they  think  it  no  disgrace. 


240  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  So,  at  the  end  of  a  quarter,  after  I  had  got  my  pay  (it 
was  a  mighty  small  sum,  believe  me),  I  concluded  to  give 
up  my  situation,  and  resume  my  travels.  But  as  I  had  played 
off  a  great  many  jokes  during  my  stay,  and  had  always 
stoutly  maintained  the  superiority  of  my  own  country  to  any 
other,  my  fellow-sexwants  had  retorted  on  me  by  calling  me 
a  Yankee ;  which,  according  to  their  ideas,  was  something 
very  contemptible.  So  I  determined  I  would  not  leave  with- 
out playing  a  joke  worth  remembering,  and  showing  them  a 
bit  of  my  Yankee  character  and  ingenuity.  As  Lord  Mac- 
cleton  was  to  give  a  great  dinner  to  some  of  his  famous 
friends,  I  thought  that  would  be  a  good  opportunity  to  get 
even  with  them  all  for  the  insolence  and  disrespect  they  had 
shown  to  a  sovereign  of  this  great  Republic.  To  accomplish 
my  object,  I  must  get  into  the  dining-hall,  and  serve  at  table ; 
which  was  not  one  of  my  allotted  duties.  How  to  do  this 
was  the  first  question ;  and  I  managed  it  by  asking  one  of 
the  servants  who  served  in  that  capacity,  and  who  happened 
to  be  near  my  size  and  figure,  to  drink  a  glass  of  beer  with 
me  a  short  time  before  the  hour  for  dinner.  In  half  an  hour 
he  was  sick  and  scared,  and  knew  not  what  ailed  him ;  but 
I  had  a  suspicion  that  a  sprinkling  of  ipecac  had  been  put  in 
his  beer,  and  that  it  had  caused  his  sudden  illness.  *  The 
feast  was  set,  the  guests  were  met ; '  and  one  of  the  head 
waiters  was  unable  to  serve,  and  a  substitute  must  be  found 
among  the  other  servants.  Of  course,  I  knew  they  would 
select  me  for  that  duty,  as  I  was  about  his  size,  and  could 
wear  his  livery.  So  he  was  put  to  bed ;  and  his  fine  suit  was 
assigned  to  me  for  the  evening.  It  was  a  great  dinner.  I 
was  deputed  to  stand  behind  two  veterans,  one  a  bishop  and 
the  other  a  peer,  but  both  of  them  with  broad  shoulders,  capa- 
cious stomachs,  and  bellies  protuberant.  The  soup  was  excel- 
lent, as  I  judged  by  the  way  they  devoured  it ;  and  so  were 
the  fish,  the  roast,  the  game,  and  every  thing.  The  wines 
were  so  superb,  that  their  excellence  formed  the  principal 
subject  of  conversation  during  the  dinner ;  and  the  quantity 
that  my  two  governors  absorbed  would  have  floated  a  birch- 
bark  canoe.  They  got  happy  and  careless  as  the  dinner  pro- 
ceeded ;  and  told  stories  and  uttered  jokes,  at  which  they 
laughed  consumedly.  Waiting  my  chance,  I  tied  their  two 
pig-tails  together,  and  escaped  from  the  room  to  the  yard  op- 
posite the  dining-room,  where  I  lighted  a  train  that  set  off  half 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  241 

a  dozen  rockets  that  I  had  previously  arranged  for  an  explo- 
sion. I  was  back  at  my  post  to  enjoy  the  success  of  my  own 
joke  by  the  time  the  match  had  burned  up  so  as  to  reach  the 
train  of  loose  powder,  that  instantly  set  off  the  rockets  with 
a  whiz,  a  sputter,  and  a  trail  of  light,  at  which  every  one  at 
table  jumped  up  as  if  they  had  thought  the  day  of  judgment 
was  upon  them.  My  two  particular  friends  jumped  up  in 
great  fright;  and,  as  they  did  so,  they  turned  their  faces 
from  each  other  to  break  from  the  table,  when  their  pig- 
tails brought  them  up  with  a  jerk  so  sudden,  that  the  short- 
est and  drunkest  fell  backwards,  and,  catching  hold  of  the 
table-cloth,  drew  his  companion  after  him,  together  with 
all  the  dishes,  bottles,  glasses,  and  candles  yet  left  at  the 
feast.  With  the  exception  of  a  branch  candlestick,  contain- 
ing a  dozen  candles,  at  the  side  of  the  dining-hall,  all  the 
lights  were  extinguished;  and,  by  a  judicious  movement,  I 
contrived  to  upset  that  without  being  observed :  so  that  we 
were  all  in  total  darkness.  Several  others  of  the  company, 
among  whom  was  Lord  Maccleton,  had  rushed  to  the  assist- 
ance of  my  lords  on  the  floor ;  but,  when  the  last  light  was 
out,  they  all  fell  into  a  heap  as  confused  and  ridiculous  as 
that  made  by  Spinney,  Dobble,  and  others,  at  c  the  great 
drunk.'  During  the  tumult,  I  made  good  my  escape,  and 
that  night,  left  Maccleton  Hall.  Great  efforts  were  made 
to  catch  me  the  next  day ;  but  I  was  not  one  to  be  caught : 
and,  as  soon  as  it  was  safe  to  travel,  I  put  out  for  the  sea- 
coast.  At  the  nearest  port,  I  succeeded  in  getting  the 
position  of  second  mate  on  a  vessel  bound  to  New  York. 
On  arriving  there,  I  found  that  my  share  of  the  prize-money 
for  one  of  the  vessels  we  had  taken  in  the  war  was  on  de- 
posit for  me,  and  the  other  was  still  in  litigation.  The  latter 
was  a  fine  large  vessel  with  a  valuable  cargo ;  and  my  share 
in  her,  if  it  were  decided  in  favor  of  the  captors,  would  not 
be  less  than  five  thousand  dollars.  The  other,  however,  was 
a  small  affair;  and  my  portion  was  only  four  hundred  dollars. 

"  I  staid  in  New  York  until  I  had  spent  about  a  hundred 
dollars ;  when  I  happened  to  hear  a  man  in  a  hotel  talking  of 
a  fine  section  of  land  away  to  the  west  of  the  Hudson  River, 
and  which  was  being  settled  up  very  fast.  He  said  he  owned 
two  townships,  and  was  selling  it  at  a  rate  that  was  sure  to 
make  the  fortunes  of  all  purchasers. 

" '  Now,'  says  I  to  myself,  'Old  Joe,  "  There  is  a  tide  in  the 
21 


242 


G0MEKY    OF   M0JSTTG0MEEY  I 


affairs  of  men,  that,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune.'" 
You  see,  squire,  I  must  quote  Shakspeare  sometimes,  if  I  am 
telling  the  truth.  I  have  got  so  used  to  it  in  making  up  my 
yarns,  that,  even  when  relating  literal  facts,  I  can  hardly  avoid 
appealing  to  the  great  poet  to  corroborate  my  opinions  and 
illustrate  my  subjects.  'Then,'  says  I  to  myself,  'if  there  is 
such  a  tide,  perhaps  it  is  now  at  the  flood;  and,  if  so,  now  is 
your  time  to  follow  on  to  fortune.  Why  not  at  once  quit 
this  roving  way  of  life,  buy  a  farm,  settle  down,  and  take 
your  ease  V  So  I  made  up  to  the  proprietor,  and  inquired  all 
about  the  country,  and  the  way  to  get  there.  He  showed 
me  his  maps  and  plans,  and  pointed  out  his  two  townships 
on  them,  all  laid  out  in  streets.  He  urged  me  to  buy,  saying 
he  would  sell  me,  for  two  hundred  dollars,  a  hundred  acres 
of  as  good  land  as  the  sun  ever  shone  on ;  and  urged  me  to 
buy  at  once,  as  it  would  soon  be  all  gone.  He  said  he  would 
make  the  terms  easy ;  that  I  need  not  pay  more  than  fifty 
dollars  down ;  though,  if  I  paid  all  cash,  he  would  take  off 
twenty-five  per  cent.  I  told  him  I  would  go  and  look  at 
the  country  first ;  and  if  the  land  suited  me,  and  the  price 
was  not  too  high,  I  would  purchase.  Finding  he  could  not 
make  me  buy  a  pig  in  a  poke,  he  kindly  told  me  the  way ; 
and  said,  if  I  would  wait  up  there  a  month  or  two,  he  should 
go  up  himself,  and  would  sell  to  me  then  if  I  cared  to  trade. 
"  So  the  next  morning  I  took  passage  on  board  a  sloop,  and 
went  a  hundred  miles,  more  or  less,  up  the  river.  Then  I 
struck  off  for  the  west ;  and  after  travelling  for  six  days,  as 
directed  by  my  friend  in  New  York,  I  reached  the  townships 
he  had  described  to  me.  But,  instead  of  the  streets  and 
churches  and  schoolhouses  that  I  had  expected  to  find,  there 
were  only  some  dozen  or  two  scattering  settlers  on  the  two 
townships.  Yet  it  was  a  fine  tract  of  country.  The  soil  was 
rich  and  deep,  and  the  climate  healthy ;  and  the  people  I  met 
were  so  kind,  and  so  well  pleased  with  their  prospects,  that  I 
resolved  that  I  would  buy,  when  the  proprietor  came,  at 
least  a  hundred  acres.  In  the  mean  while,  I  busied  myself 
in  looking  for  the  best  lots  and  sections  from  which  to  select. 
A  stream  of  considerable  size  ran  through  the  farther  town- 
ship ;  and,  following  it  up,  I  discovered  a  fall  of  water,  that 
I  thought  at  some  time  must  be  valuable,  for  I  had  seen 
what  a  waterfall  might  prove  to  be  in  the  case  of  Montgom- 
ery Village.    I  no  sooner  made  this  discovery  than  I  deter- 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  243 

mined  to  take  a  lot  that  would  embrace  the  waterfall.  I  said 
nothing  to  anybody,  however ;  and,  when  the  owner  came,  I 
asked  him  what  he  would  take  for  such  a  lot :  he  said  a 
hundred  and  thirty  dollars.  I  told  him  I  would  take  it ;  and 
he  made  out  the  deed,  and  I  paid  him  the  money.  But  what 
could  I  do  with  a  waterfall  or  mill-privilege?  I  had  no 
money  to  build  mills ;  and,  if  they  were  built,  they  would  be 
of  no  use  until  the  country  around  was  settled.  Still  I  had 
faith  the  water-power  would  one  day  be  valuable,  and  deter- 
mined to  bide  my  time.  In  the  mean  time,  I  must  live :  so 
I  began  to  build  a  log-house  on  my  land,  which  was  four 
miles  from  any  human  habitation ;  and,  after  that  was  done, 
I  set  to  to  make  a  clearing.  But  it  was  slow  work,  and  I 
soon  got  tired  of  it.  I  was  never  over-fond  of  hard,  continu- 
ous work ;  and,  as  game  was  plenty,  I  depended  mainly  on 
my  gun  for  support.  I  soon  got  sick  of  the  kind  of  life  I  was 
leading,  and  wished  myself  back  in  Montgomery.  The  life 
was  too  solitary  for  me :  my  neighbors  were  too  far  off  for 
me  to  visit  them  often,  and  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  leave ; 
when,  coming  in  one  day,  I  found  an  old  Indian  sitting  on 
the  floor  of  my  house,  in  front  of  the  fire.  He  was  old,  hag- 
gard, and  decrepit :  and  one  leg  had  been  broken,  and  either 
never  set,  or  set  so  badly,  that  it  was  deformed  and  crooked ; 
so  that  that  foot  was  nearly  at  right  angles  to  the  other. 

"  'Halloo ! '  says  I :  '  who  is  here  ? ' 

" '  A  friend,'  said  he  gruffly. 

" '  You  make  mighty  free  with  your  friends,  then.' 

" '  Ay ;  and  I  have  made  free  with  my  enemies.  Which 
are  you  ? ' 

" '  Oh !  a  friend,'  I  replied,  not  at  all  liking  his  sinister  re- 
mark. 

" '  Prove  it,  then,'  said  he  ; *  for  Vengeance  is  hungry.' 

" '  On  whom  would  you  wreak  your  vengeance  ? '  said  I, 
now  somewhat  nettled  at  his  sullen  insolence.  '  If  you  come 
here  to  threaten  me,  well  and  good ;  for  we  will  understand 
each  other.  But,  if  you  want  food,  you  can  have  the  same  as 
I  eat  myself.' 

"  I  said  this  standing  with  my  gun,  so  that  I  could  raise  it 
on  the  instant  if  he  made  a  hostile  movement.  The  savage, 
seeing  I  doubted  him,  gave  a  scornful  sneer,  and,  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  rage  and  contempt,  said,  '  Fear  not, 
you  pale  coward !  for  the  sun  of  Vengeance  is  almost  set. 


244  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY*. 

He  has  no  strength  to  follow  his  enemies ;  and  his  friends  — 
where  are  they  ?  The  leaves  have  fallen  and  fallen  till  their 
bones  no  longer  whiten  their  pathway  through  the  forest, 
and  Vengeance  now  begs  his  bread  of  the  white  man.' 

u  This  speech,  with  the  manner  of  the  old  savage,  disarmed 
me  of  all  apprehension.  I  was  ashamed  of  my  suspicions 
when  I  looked  at  the  wretched  object  before  me.  He  was 
withered,  haggard,  and  wrinkled.  He  might,  from  his  ap- 
pearance, have  been  eighty  or  a  hundred  and  eighty.  His 
scanty  hair  hung  in  plaits,  like  so  many  snakes ;  his  fingers 
were  long  and  bony,  and  his  eyes  dimly  savage. 

"  *  Old  man,'  said  I,  '  stay  with  me  as  long  as  you  like.'  I 
then  went  and  drew  a  bottle  of  rum  from  a  corner,  and,  pour- 
ing a  gill  of  it  into  a  tin  cup,  gave  it  to  him.  He  drank  it 
off  as  so  much  water,  and  said  nothing  more  for  some  minutes. 
While  he  sat  musing,  I  went  out  and  cut  off  some  thick 
slices  from  the  body  of  a  deer  that  I  had  shot  the  day  before, 
and  which  hung  suspended  from  the  branch  of  a  tree  close 
by;  and  then,  returning  to  the  house,  I  raked  some  coals 
from  the  fire,  and  placed  the  venison  upon  them.  The  sav- 
age glared  at  it  with  the  ferocity  of  a  wolf.  *  Eat,  old  man,' 
said  I,  '  as  soon  as  you  like.'  With  the  word,  though  the 
meat  was  hardly  warmed,  he  reached  forth  and  caught  it 
from  the  coals,  and  devoured  it  as  one  famished.  He  ate  all 
I  had  brought  in,  and  then  saying,  -Vengeance  will  rest 
now,'  lay  down  on  the  floor,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

"  *  Well,'  thought  I,  as  I  contemplated  the  haggard  figure, 
looking  grim  and  horrible  before  me,  *  I  have  been  wanting 
company  for  a  long  time,  and  here  it  is.  This  must  be  what 
such  fellows  as  Cook  and  Craig  and  Spinney  call  a  special 
Providence ;  but  I  don't  know  as  I  feel  much  inclined  to 
thank  Providence  for  it.  But  it  is  a  human  critter,  anyhow, 
and  shall  have  protection.'  So  I  went  and  began  to  hoe  in 
a  small  patch  where  I  had  planted  some  corn  and  potatoes, 
leaving  him  asleep.  Towards  night,  I  saw  the  old  man  come 
out  of  the  house,  and  look  about.  Espying  me  at  a  distance, 
he  advanced  towards  me  with  extreme  pain.  His  age  and 
lameness  made  walking  very  difficult  and  slow ;  but  at  length 
he  managed  to  get  near  me,  and  said,  *  So,  Pug-nose,'  (do 
you  know,  square,  he  called  me  Pug-nose  ?)  —  ■  so,  Pug-nose, 
you  were  not  afraid  to  give  deer  and  rum  to  old  Vengeance? 
Ah !  well,  it  matters  little :  a  few  days,  and  Sleeping  Ven- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  245 

geance  will  sleep,  and  wake  only  where  his  fathers  dwell ; 
but  he  will  not  forget  Pug-nose.  No  :  behind  the  merry  eye 
of  Pug-nose  shall  dwell  the  spirit  of  Sleeping  Vengeance. 
Did  not  the  old  witch  say  that  the  light  heart  and  the  merry 
eye  should  hew  the  wood  and  draw  the  water  for  Sleeping 
Vengeance  when  his  bones  were  gathered  to  the  earth  ? ' 

"This  talk  of  the  old  Indian  seemed  but  incoherent  jargon 
at  the  time ;  but,  if  the  savage  was  mad,  I  found,  long  after, 
that  there  was  method  in  his  madness.  But  I  only  said  to 
him  then,  *  Come,  let  us  go  to  the  house,  and  we  will  talk 
of  these  things  another  day ;  for  I  suppose  you  will  stay  with 
me  for  some  time.  I  then  went  on  towards  the  house,  fol- 
lowed by  him  with  such  slow  and  painful  haste  as  he  could 
make.  I  now  cooked  some  more  of  the  venison,  and,  putting 
some  Indian  corn-meal  into  a  kettle  of  boiling  water,  soon 
had  a  pot  of  boiling  hasty-pudding.  When  it  was  sufficient- 
ly cooked,  I  set  it  down  on  the  hearth  before  him ;  and,  while 
I  was  looking  for  a  dish  and  spoon,  he  began  to  eat  it  with 
his  fingers,  as  if  insensible  to  heat.  He  also  ate  several  large 
slices  of  the  venison ;  and,  when  sated,  crawled  to  the  side 
of  the  room,  lay  down,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  of  the  life  I  led  with  this  miserable 
being  for  my  companion.  I  could  not  bid  him  go,  and  I  did 
not  want  him  to  stay.  But  he  improved  somewhat  on  ac- 
quaintance ;  and  my  generous  fare  seemed  to  infuse  new  life 
into  him,  and  he  became  very  communicative  and  garrulous. 
He  told  me  of  many  desperate  and  bloody  adventures  that 
he  had  taken  part  in;  and  that,  because  of  his  great  cunning 
and  undying  hate  of  all  who  injured  him,  he  was  called 
Sleeping  Vengeance.  One  evening,  after  I  had  given  him 
a  large  drink  of  rum,  he  went  on  to  tell  about  the  massacre 
at  Gault's  Hill ;  for  it  seemed  that  he  was  there,  and  took  a 
leading  part  in  that  dreadful  tragedy.  He  told  me  how  he 
aided  Col.  Cumberland  to  surprise  the  house ;  and  how  he 
stole  and  carried  away  the  child,  while  the  king's  officer, 
having  first  drawn  forth  and  murdered  the  man  of  the  house, 
entered,  and  worse  than  murdered  his  wife ;  and  how  he  after- 
wards sent  in  some  other  Indians,  who  cut  her  throat  and 
made  a  funeral  pyre  for  her,  while  he  and  Cumberland  looked 
through  the  window  to  see  the  work  completed.  And  the 
dead  woman  cast  such  a  look  on  Cumberland,  that  he  could 
never  sleep  afterwards,  but  was  always  seeing  her  lovely, 
21* 


246  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

angel  eyes  turned  towards  him ;  while  the  horrid  gash  in  her 
tliroat,  from  which  the  blood  ever  trickled,  was  always  present 
to  his  sight.  The  blood  ever  trickled,  and  the  eyes  ever 
looked  as  of  some  being  not  of  earth,  but  rather  of  some 
good  spirit,  better  than  Indian  ever  worshipped,  full,  beam- 
ing upon  him. 

"  Then  he  told  how  that  for  many  days  he  bore  the  child  of 
the  murdered  pair  through  the  forest,  and  how  the  colonel 
tried  to  get  it  from  him  to  kill  it,  and  how  he  scarcely  slept 
for  weeks,  till  at  last  it  was  taken  from  him  by  a  trick,  at 
the  same  time  that  his  leg  was  shivered  by  a  musket-ball. 
Thus  he  lost  the  child  ;  but  the  same  night  he  cut  the  throat 
of  the  only  child  of  the  colonel,  and  so  disposed  it  in  death 
as  to  resemble,  as  far  as  possible,  the  dead  form  of  Gault's 
wife,  as  she  cast  her  last  look  upon  him.  A  few  days  after- 
wards, the  colonel  and  Gault's  child  sailed  for  England. 

"When  he  had  gone  thus  far,  I  told  him  that  his  story  of 
the  ever-present  apparition  reminded  me  of  a  man  I  had 
known  in  England,  and  who,  by  a  strange  coincidence,  bore 
the  same  name  as  the  author  of  the  Gault  murder.  But  of 
course  it  was  not  he,  as  he  was  a  great  man,  a  very  honora- 
ble man,  a  peer  of  the  realm,  and  one  of  that  class  whose 
united  opinion  was  considered  infallible. 

"  'Ah,  ha,  ah ! '  he  drawled  out.    « Tell  me  of  him.' 

"I  then  related  to  him,  as  I  have  to  you,  the  events  of  my 
life  in  England,  and  dwelt  particularly  upon  the  idiosyncra- 
sies of  Lord  Maccleton.  When  I  spoke  to  him  of  the  letter 
which  his  wife  received,  that  caused  her  so  to  detest  her 
husband,  he  exclaimed,  '  Ah,  ha !  she  got  the  letter,  did  she  ? 
I  thought  she  would.     Vengeance  required  it.' 

" c  What ! '  said  I, '  did  you  follow  him  to  England  ?  or  how 
could  you  send  a  letter  ? ' 

" '  Vengeance  forgets  nothing,'  answered  he.  '  It  was  a 
long  time  before  my  shattered  leg  would  allow  me  to  move ; 
and,  when  I  did  move,  it  was  only  for  vengeance.  I  fol- 
lowed the  army  of  the  king.  I  made  myself  useful  as  a  spy, 
and  learned  all  about  the  colonel  from  other  officers  in  the 
king's  army.  I  heard  it  said  he  had  left  with  his  child  for  Eng- 
land ;  though  I  knew  his  own  child  was  dead,  and  he  must  have 
substituted  Gault's  for  it.  I  learned,  too,  that,  after  he  re- 
turned to  England,  he  had  married  the  fairest  flower  that 
ever  bloomed  on  a  soil  base  enough  to  produce  so  vile  a 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  247 

wretch  as  he.  *  You  ask  how  I  wrote,  or  how  I  sent,  the 
letter.  It  is  enough  that  I  found  means  to  do  it.  It  was  to 
be  ;  and  what  is  to  be  will  be.  You  tell  me  that  it  had  the 
effect  I  intended.  But  my  work  is  not  yet  done :  more  of 
my  vengeance  is  yet  to  be  wrought ;  but  it  is  you  that  hence- 
forth must  do  it.  You  will  be  the  instrument  of  justice  in 
the  hands  of  the  Great  Spirit ;  for  did  not  the  witch  say  that  it 
should  fall  to  a  light  heart  and  a  merry  face  to  inflict  the 
penalty  of  guilt  ?  And  are  not  yours  such  ?  Is  not  yours  a 
light  heart?  and  have  you  not  a  merry  eye?'  He  then 
drew  from  a  pocket  in  his  worn  and  stained  garment  a  pack- 
age, and  said,  ■  I  leave  this  with  you :  it  will  explain  itself. 
When  I  have  been  gone  for  one  week,  open  and  read  it,  and 
not  before.' 

"  I  took  the  package  from  the  old  man,  and  lay  down  on 
my  straw  bed  on  one  side  of  the  room  'y  while  he  rolled  over 
to  the  other  side,  and  was  soon  asleep.  The  next  morning  I 
got  up  early,  and,  taking  my  gun,  went  out  to  see  if  I  could 
shoot  a  partridge  or  hare.  My  luck  was  bad ;  and  I  was  gone 
full  two  hours,  having  in  all  that  time  shot  only  three  par- 
tridges. When  I  returned,  the  old  man  was  still  lying  in  the 
same  place.  I  approached,  and  called  out  to  him ;  but  he 
moved  not.  He  was  dead.  I  went  over  that  day  to  my 
nearest  neighbor,  Ben  Barker,  and  told  him  that  the  old  In- 
dian, of  whom  I  had  before  told  him,  was  dead ;  and  he  and 
his  hired  man  went  with  me,  and  we  buried  him.  What  an 
amount  of  suffering  he  must  have  endured  from  that  lame 
leg !     It  was  a  hideous  thing  to  look  at. 

My  prize-money  was  now  nearly  exhausted ;  and  I  had 
nothing  left  but  my  land,  that  would  be  of  little  use  to  me 
for  several  years.  I  was  more  lonely  than  ever  after  the  In- 
dian had  left  me  for  his  long  home.  I  could  not  bear  to  sit 
in  my  cabin  through  a  long  evening.  Besides,  I  had  learned 
from  his  lips,  and  the  package  he  had  left  behind,  that  I  had 
something  more  to  do  than  to  wait.  So  I  determined  to 
leave ;  and  leave  I  did.  And  in  four  weeks  I  was  back  in 
Montgomery,  without  a  cent  in  my  pocket.  That  was  the 
time  of  my  arrival  here  the  last  time  before  this.  I  came  by 
way  of  New  York,  and  then  I  found  the  lawsuit  about  the 
other  prize-money  was  not  yet  decided.  So  I  got  on  board 
a  schooner,  and  worked  my  passage  to  Boston,  and  found  my 
way  on  foot  to  this  town. 


248  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

"  After  being  here  for  several  months,  I  left,  as  you  may 
recollect,  rather  suddenly.  I  had  other  business,  you  may  well 
suppose,  besides  looking  for  means  to  fulfil  my  promises  to 
my  namesakes,  and  to  those  of  my  c  sister  Nancy,  who  died 
in  the  poor-house.'  I  thought  I  would  go  first  and  look  after 
my  prize-money.  It  was  still  tied  up  in  law.  You  lawyers, 
square,  have  a  bad  way  of  holding  on  to  money  when  you 
once  get  it.  I  then  made  a  trip  to  the  West  Indies  as  mate 
of  a  small  vessel;  and,  having  got  a  little  money  in  that  way, 
I  went  up  to  look  at  my  farm  again.  The  settlers  were  gath- 
ering in  fast,  and  I  found  I  could  sell  my  place  for  five  times 
what  it  cost  me.  I  said  no :  I  would  wait.  But  I  had  the 
only  water-power  within  six  miles,  and  people  wanted  a  saw- 
mill and  grist-mill  put  up :  so  I  sold  ten  acres  from  my  pur- 
chase to  a  man  who  was  a  mill-wright,  and  gave  him  a  lease 
of  water-power,  for  a  grist  and  saw  mill,  for  ten  years ;  at  the 
end  of  which  time  I  was  to  take  his  improvements  at  their 
value,  or  give  an  extension  of  the  lease.  He  paid  for  this 
just  what  I  had  paid  for  the  whole,  —  a  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  And  so,  well  satisfied,  I  left  again ;  and,  when  I  got 
to  New  York,  the  prize-money  was  ready  for  me.  It  amount- 
ed to  five  thousand  two  hundred  and  seventy-three  dollars. 
I  then  thought  it  a  good  time  to  return  and  visit  my  old 
friends  in  Montgomery,  and  fulfil  my  promises  to  my  name- 
sakes ;  and,  taking  a  thousand  dollars  in  my  pocket  (leaving 
the  rest  drawing  interest),  I  came  on  here,  and  here  I  am. 
This  is  all  of  my  story  that  I  can  tell  you  now." 

"  But  what  of  the  Indian's  package  ?  What  was  in  that  ?  " 
inquired  the  lawyer. 

"  That  you  must  leave  with  me  for  the  present,"  said  Joe. 
"  If  the  proper  time  ever  comes,  you  will  know  all  about  its 
singular  contents,  but  not  now.  Think  not  I  could  have 
lived  this  life  if  I  had  not  been  nerved  to  it  by  some  great 
wrong.  It  is  true,  for  a  long  time  I  knew  not  the  unseen  in- 
fluence that  held  me  tied.  But  do  not  think  that  a  great 
crime  like  that  against  the  Gaults  could  go  unavenged.  Ask 
not  why  I  was  of  all  the  world  the  person  fated  to  be  the  in- 
strument of  the  immutable  laws  of  justice.  'Tis  enough 
that  the  crime  is  yet  unrepented ;  for  the  fruits  of  it  are  as 
yet  possessed  and  enjoyed  by  him  who  committed  it.  But 
this  I  have  learned  :  that  he  who  seeks  to  profit  by  wrong  or 
crime  enters  the  lists  against  God  Almighty ;  and  in  his  own 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY;.  249 

foils  he  must  be  confounded.  This  is  a  universe  of  harmony, 
and  Nature  ever  strives  for  equilibrium  and  justice;  and,  in 
the  moral  as  in  the  physical  world,  he  who  tries  to  subvert 
its  inevitable  laws  'shall  be  destroyed,  and  his  sins  visited  on 
him  and  his  children,  even  to  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion.' I  have  a  work  to  do ;  for  I  am  the  appointed  instru- 
ment to  work  out  the  confusion  of  the  guilty.  But,  if  I  call 
up  the  apparitions  of  their  deeds  to  the  wicked,  I  invoke 
only  honest  ghosts.  I  disturb  not  the  innocent,  nor  the  re- 
pentant guilty.  I  have  my  work  to  do  as  clearly  as  had 
Hamlet ;  and  I  go  to  do  it,  —  not  indeed  with  rapier  or 
pistol,  but  to  prick  to  duty  the  guilty  conscience.  My  story 
is  now  told.  Even  to  you  I  can  relate  no  more  till  I  have 
finished  the  work  that  is  before  me." 

He  ceased ;  and  both  he  and  the  lawyer  sat  for  several 
minutes  without  uttering  a  word.  At  length  the  latter  rose 
from  his  seat,  and  said,  "  I  neither  doubt  nor  believe  your 
story.  It  may  be  true  ;  but  by  it  you  have  proved  yourself 
the  most  consummate  actor  I  ever  saw.  That  there  was 
something  mysterious  about  you  and  your  history,  as  I  told 
you  at  first,  I  have  for  some  time  been  well  convinced  ;  and 
that  leads  me  to  suppose  that  your  story  is  true.  But,  as  you 
have  ever  deceived  everybody  before,  how  can  I  know  that 
you  are  not  practising  still  deeper  deception  on  me  now  ?  I 
admit  you  appear  in  all  respects  a  different  character  than 
ever  before.  Hitherto  you  have  always  made  people  be- 
lieve you  were  illiterate,  careless,  thriftless,  and  ignorant; 
and  here  you  have  told  off  your  story,  if  not  in  language  of 
classic  purity,  at  least  in  good  methodical  English." 

"  You  have  heard,"  said  Joe,  "  the  story  of  Junius  Brutus, 
who  was  permitted  to  live  only  because  folks  thought  him  a 
fool.  So  I,  by  passing  for  an  ignorant,  illiterate,  and  purposeless 
adventurer,  am  indulged  and  tolerated  where  one  thought 
wiser  would  be  distrusted.  If  I  always  sign  my  name  with 
an  X,  leaving  somebody  else  to  fill  up  the  other  part  of  it, 
people  will  never  think  of  me  as  a  suspicious  or  dangerous 
character ;  and  if  I  tell  ridiculous,  amusing,  and  absurd  sto- 
ries of  my  adventures,  they  will  despair  of  ever  learning  any 
thing  of  my  real  history.  Hamlet,  you  remember,  feigned 
insanity;  but  there  was  much  method  in  his  madness  :  and,  if 
I  act  the  part  of  a  joker  and  buffoon,  it  is  with  no  less  fell 
purpose  than  that  which  possessed  the  Prince  of  Denmark." 


250  GOMERY   OP  MONTGOMERY: 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  you  might  feel  confidence  enough  in 
me  to  tell  me  your  whole  story." 

"  Were  I  to  do  that,  it  would  cause  <  thy  knotted  and  com- 
bined locks  to  part,  and  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end 
like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine.'  It  is  not  within  the 
scope  of  my  fell  mission  —  revenge  I  do  not  call  it — that 
any  one  should  know  of  my  existence  in  my  real  character. 
I  move,  an  instrument  of  divine  justice;  and  'tis  mine  to  keep 
alive  the  fires  of  remorse  in  the  unrepentant,  guilty  con- 
science. I  would  willingly  tell  you  all  but  for  fear  that, 
through  unforeseen  casualty,  it  might  become  known  to 
others." 

"  You  pay  a  poor  compliment  to  my  fidelity  and  discretion." 

"  Squire  Gomery,  do  you  promise  me  that,  under  any  pos- 
sible circumstances  or  contingency,  you  will  never  reveal  a 
word  of  what  I  now  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  should  never  mention  any  thing  told  me  in 
confidence.  Nevertheless,  I  pledge  myself,  in  terms  as  strong 
as  you  can  make  them,  never  to  intimate  by  word  or  deed, 
by  hint  or  sign,  that  I  know  any  thing  more  of  you  or  your 
history  than  is  known  to  others  of  your  acquaintances." 

"  Not  if  beggary  and  ruin  stood  before  you,  and  could  only 
be  averted  by  disclosure  ?  " 

"  Not  to  save  myself  from  the  inquisition,"  said  Gomery, 
smiling  at  the  earnestness  of  Joe. 

"Know  then,"  said  Joe,  "that  I  am  the  son  of  David 
Gault ;  that  my  father  and  my  mother  were  murdered  by 
Col.  Cumberland,  my  sister  carried  into  captivity,  and  after- 
wards substituted  for  his  child  that  had  been  murdered  by 
Sleeping  Vengeance !  The  package  left  me  by  that  hideous 
savage  contained  a  fearful  legacy.  It  was  a  long  and  closely 
written  narrative  of  the  GaultVHill  massacre,  much  more 
full  and  minute  than  he  had  told  it  verbally.  How  he  had 
procured  it  to  be  written,  I  know  not ;  but  there  it  was.  I 
had  been  struck,  when  he  was  telling  his  story  to  me,  by  the 
resemblance  to  Lord  Maccleton  which  his  description  bore  to 
the  author  of  that  horrid  deed.  But  yet  it  did  not  impress 
me  that  they  could  be  one  and  the  same  individual.  At  that 
time,  you  must  know,  I  knew  nothing  of  my  own  family  but 
that  my  father  and  mother  had  been  murdered  by  the  In- 
dians when  I  was  but  a  lad  of  five  years  of  age.  I  had  led 
a  vagrant  life,  and  had  no  earnestness  of  purpose  or  definite 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  251 

object  before  me.  I  had  never  thought  of  returning  to  my 
birthplace  again ;  and  when  he  told  me  his  story,  though 
greatly  moved  by  his  vivid  description  of  the  manner  of  my 
parents'  death,  I  could  not  even  then  suppose  that  the  author 
of  it  was  the  great  Lord  Maccleton.  But  the  Indian's  legacy 
made  known  every  thing.  It  gave  a  minute  account  of  the 
murder;  the  journey  to  Quebec;  the  rescue  of  my  sister 
from  the  savage ;  her  substitution  for  Cumberland's  murdered 
child ;  the  imposition  practised  by  him  on  his  friends  and 
family  in  England  ;  his  succeeding  to  the  family  estates  and 
titles,  and  becoming  Lord  Maccleton  ;  and  the  narrative  con- 
cluded with  a  statement  that  it  was  intended  to  be  read  only 
by  the  son  of  the  murdered  Gaults,  to  whom  the  task  of  ven- 
geance was  intrusted. 

"  You  may  imagine,  squire,  that  this  revelation  wrought  a 
change  in  my  whole  nature.  It  was  days  before  I  could  com- 
prehend it  all.  I  was  at  first  in  a  sort  of  stupor ;  but  gradu- 
ally I  awoke  to  a  rigid  purpose,  and  my  life  ever  since  has 
been  impelled  to  one  object.  I  shall  soon  set  forth  upon  my 
mission ;  for  it  is  not  revenge.  I  am  compelled  by  the  im- 
pulses of  compelling  Nature  to  be  the  Nemesis  of  one  whose 
very  life  is  a  torment." 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  Deeply,  dreadfully  as  you 
have  been  wronged,  you  will  not  imbrue  your  hands  in  his 
blood?" 

"  He  shall  not  escape  me  so.  He  would  die  ;  but  he  can- 
not, dare  not.  He  must  live,  —  live  in  agony  and  remorse  till 
long  past  the  average  life  of  man  ;  and  mine  it  must  be  to  hold 
up  to  him  his  own  crimes.  When  he  is  dead  I  will  return,  and 
pass  the  residue  of  my  life  here,  and  be  buried  on  Gault's 
Hill,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Gault  Tree ;  and  then  the 
angels  will  weep  no  more. 

He  ceased,  and  both  sat  silent  for  several  minutes ;  at  the 
end  of  which  time  the  door  was  gently  opened,  and  Walter 
looked  timidly  in  to  see  if  he  might  venture  farther.  "  Come 
in,  my  boy,"  said  the  lawyer ;  and  Joe's  narrative  was  con- 
cluded. 


252  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

"  She,  as  her  carol  sadder  grew, 

From  brow  and  bosom  slowly  down 
Through  rosy  taper  fingers  drew 

Her  streaming  curls  of  deepest  brown 
To  left  and  right,  and  made  appear, 

Still  lighted  in  a  secret  shrine, 

Her  melancholy  eyes  divine,  — 
The  home  of  woe  without  a  tear."  —  Tennyson. 

From  what  we  have  seen  of  Joe  Pumpagin,  and  now  know 
of  his  antecedents,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  he  could 
long  remain  contented  in  the  quiet  town  of  Montgomery, 
notwithstanding  that  he  was  equally  at  home  at  the  Pivot 
and  at  Diller's  Tavern.  Though  he  delighted  to  be  the  hero 
of  the  "  nippers,"  as  his  associates  who  drank  flip  at  his  ex- 
pense were  now  called,  and  was  ever  welcome  at  the  Pivot, 
and  had  formed  so  strong  an  attachment  for  young  Walter 
that  he  was  reluctant  to  leave  him,  yet  it  was  not  for  him  to 
remain  long  inactive  anywhere,  as  he  was  impressed  with 
the  idea  that  there  was  some  great  and  mysterious  work  for 
him  to  do.  So,  when  the  winter  was  over,  and  the  days 
were  lengthening  as  they  went  through  the  opening  spring 
until  the  middle  of  May  was  past,  his  resolution  was  sudden- 
ly taken ;  and,  at  a  meeting  of  the  "  flippers,"  he  invited 
them  all  to  be  there  the  next  night,  when  he  would  show 
them  a  trick.  Then,  in  the  presence  of  several  of  his  faith- 
ful supporters,  he  told  Diller  to  be  prepared  for  a  big  spree 
the  next  night.  But  the  company  had  no  sooner  left,  than, 
as  on  a  memorable  occasion  years  before,  he  took  his  staff  in 
his  hand,  and  giving  an  outlandish  gold-piece  to  Philemon, 
telling  him  to  keep  it  till  his  return,  and  also  to  put  his  best 
trunk  on  board  the  stage  which  was  to  pass  by  early  the  next 
morning,  he  walked  away,  without  so  much  as  saying  good- 
by,  or  even  notifying  his  friends  at  the  Pivot  of  his  intended 
departure. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  253 

At  the  Pivot,  much  surprise  was  felt  by  the  whole  family 
when  they  learned  that  Joe  had  left  so  abruptly.  Walter 
was  sorely  grieved  at  first :  but  his  mother  consoled  him  by 
saying  that  his  departure  had  been  so  sudden  and  unexpect- 
ed, that  his  return  would  probably  be  as  sudden,  and  perhaps 
very  soon ;  for  "  Old  Joe  was  always  up  to  pranks  and  sur- 
prises." Consoled  by  this  hope,  the  boy  soon  recovered  his 
usual  quiet  cheerfulness ;  and  the  season  glided  by,  all  things 
at  the  Pivot  moving  on  in  their  accustomed  channel. 

As  the  autumn  came  on,  Freeborn  Gomery  and  his  wife 
thought  it  time  to  decide  definitely  what  should  be  the  future 
calling,  or  rather  education,  of  their  youngest  child.  It  had 
before  this  been  decided  that  Theron  and  Wirtimir  should 
be  men  of  business,  and  learn  the  art  of  merchandising  to 
profit;  and  it  was  the  hope  of  Mrs.  Gomery,  and  of  the  less 
ambitious  squire,  that  Walter  would  take  to  books,  and  be- 
come a  man  of  letters,  and  perhaps  a  great  statesman.  He 
was  very  different  from  the  other  children ;  not  so  robust  of 
constitution,  nor  so  sprightly,  mischievous,  or  vivacious.  He 
was  not  of  other  children  of  his  years  in  their  plays  and 
games.  In  quickness  of  parts,  and  capacity  to  learn,  he  was 
not  behind  either  of  his  brothers ;  nor  was  he  much  their 
superior.  Yet  he  was  a  better  scholar  at  the  same  age  than 
they  had  been ;  for  he  was  more  obedient,  and  did  as  he  was 
bid  either  by  teachers  or  parents.  If  told  to  study,  he 
studied,  if  not  from  a  desire  to  learn,  then  from  a  sense  of 
duty ;  and  he  never  repined  at  an  unreasonable  lesson,  but 
set  himself  to  it  as  a  thing  to  be  accomplished  if  possible. 

And  yet,  in  his  own  way,  he  was  mischievous  enough,  and 
ingenious  in  his  mischief.  In  devising  pleasing  surprises  for 
his  comrades,  he  was  exceedingly  fertile ;  and  it  was  not 
unusual  for  him  to  take  boys  much  older  and  stronger  than 
he  under  his  protection,  when  he  saw  them  imposed  upon 
by  others.  No  boy  at  school  could  ever  quarrel  with  him ; 
and  he  had  a  juvenile  moral  power  that  larger  boys  could 
not  face ;  and  when,  one  day,  he  gave  his  own  new  cap  to 
Peter  Penniman,  an  awkward,  ragged,  and  ungainly  boy, 
whose  dilapidated  hat  had  been  torn  in  pieces  by  his  school- 
mates, and  went  home  bare-headed  himself,  there  was  not  a 
boy  in  the  school  who  had  taken  part  against  Peter  but  went 
home  chapfallen,  and  ashamed  of  himself.  Indeed,  such  little 
acts  were  almost  of  every-day  occurrence ;   of  little  impor- 

22 


254  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

tance  in  themselves,  but  all  going  to  show  a  character  of  pre- 
cocious moral  development. 

The  old  squire  took  great  delight  in  the  character  of  this 
boy,  and  inculcated  all  the  stern  virtues  he  had  learned  to 
appreciate,  but  which,  in  his  younger  days,  he  had  not  always 
been  strong  enough  in  his  moral  self-reliance  to  carry  into 
effect.  Mrs.  Gomery  thought  her  boy  a  wonder;  and  yet  she 
feared  that  such  qualities  as  his  would  never  make  him  the 
successful  and  distinguished  man  of  the  world  which  she 
hoped  he  might  be. 

At  this  season,  the  oldest  son  of  Thomas  Homer,  whose 
name  was  Obededom,  and  who  will  be  remembered  as  having 
figured  so  conspicuously  on  the  night  of  the  great  ball,  and 
who,  as  has  been  said,  a  few  months  before  had  had  his  leg 
crushed,  was  the  especial  care  of  Walter.  The  distance 
across  lots  from  the  Pivot  to  the  house  of  Homer  was  less 
than  a  mile ;  and  every  day,  unless  the  weather  was  so  bad 
as  to  prevent,  Walter  went  to  see  his  crippled  friend,  and 
always  took  with  him  something  to  please  him.  Obededom, 
it  must  be  confessed,  was  not  a  worthy  nor  a  very  hopeful 
subject  for  such  attentions ;  and  the  forbearance  that  could 
tolerate  his  ingratitude,  and  still  continue  them,  would  be 
regarded  by  most  people  as  mawkish  and  morbid.  In  fact, 
I  am  not  sure  but  Walter  was  one  of  those  whom  men  of 
hard,  available,  common  sense  would  call  mawkish,  morbid, 
and  sickly  sentimental.  But,  such  as  he  was,  he  was  the 
embodiment  of  certain  actual,  vivid,  and  transparent  quali- 
ties ;  and,  such  as  he  was  made,  he  is  presented  to  be  com- 
mended, blamed,  or  despised.  Neither  charity  nor  pity  is 
asked  for  him.  Such  as  he  was  let  him  be  regarded.  He 
never  counted  results,  or  considered  what  was  expedient.  If 
he  regarded  only  what  was  right,  and  had  no  idea  of  a  wis- 
dom independent  of  it,  then  let  him  suffer  for  his  folly.  As 
his  Creator  made  him,  let  him  be  judged ;  but  let  him  who 
condemns  him  take  heed  lest  he  arrogate  to  himself  virtues 
that  he  does  not  possess,  and  cannot  appreciate  in  others. 

During  the  summer  season,  it  had  been  the  custom  of 
Walter  to  go  into  the  fields,  and  gather  such  berries  from  the 
vines  and  hedges,  and  such  fruits,  as  were  in  their  season,  and 
trudge  over,  with  a  little  basket  in  his  hand  containing  his 
gift,  to  the  bed-ridden  Obededom.  The  strawberries  of  June 
were  earliest ;   and,  ere  they  had  departed,  the  raspberries 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  255 

were  ripe  upon  the  bushes,  which  were  in  turn  succeeded  by- 
blueberries  in  bogs  and  pastures ;  and  after  them  came  the 
large,  wild,  and  sweet  blackberries ;  and,  by  the  time  the  last 
were  no  longer  to  be  found,  the  early  apples  were  ripe :  so 
that,  for  almost  an  entire  season,  there  was  scarcely  a  day, 
if  the  weather  were  fair,  but  Walter  could  find  some- 
thing that  would  be  a  welcome  present  to  his  afflicted  com- 
rade. But  it  was  oftener  that  he  received  blame  than  thanks 
for  his  pains ;  for  Obededom  received  his  gifts  without  acknow- 
ledgment, and  often  found  fault  because  the  berries  were 
unripe  or  over-ripe,  or  not  sufficient  in  quantity.  Then  the 
ingrate  would  tease  him  to  bring  toys  and  presents  made  to 
him  by  his  father  and  mother,  or  such  as  had  been  sent  to 
him  by  distant  cousins ;  and,  if  he  replied  that  he  could  not 
do  this  without  the  parental  leave,  the  invalid  would  fly  in  a 
passion,  and  call  him  mean  and  stingy,  and  tell  him,  that,  if 
he  ever  got  well  again,  he  would  flog  him  half  to  death. 
These  exhibitions  of  ingratitude  and  ill-temper  would  grieve 
Walter  sorely;  but  he  never  replied  to  them,  for  he  attribut- 
ed all  to  the  cruel  pain  that  ever  racked  the  body  of  Obed- 
edom; and,  besides  that,  he  saw,  that,  much  as  it  pained  him,  it 
grieved  infinitely  more  another  who  was  ever  present  at  the 
juvenile  interviews  and  altercations.  This  was  the  only  sis- 
ter of  Obededom,  who  at  this  time,  when  her  brother  was 
thirteen,  was  nine  years  old.  She  was,  in  all  things,  the 
opposite  of  him.  Before  his  accident,  he  had  been  bluff,  bois- 
terous, rude,  and  violent.  He  was  the  hope  of  his  father, 
who  took  pride  in  his  most  transparent  faults.  His  insolence 
went  unrebuked  by  his  indulgent  parents ;  and  his  domineer- 
ing and  selfishness  were  looked  upon  as  hopeful  signs.  To 
his  sister  he  had  ever  been  the  arrogant  master,  and  could 
destroy  her  dolls  and  other  girlish  playthings  with  impunity, 
insensible  to  her  tears,  and  unresponsive  to  her  love.  She 
was  ever  trying  to  placate  his  temper  and  to  win  his  affection. 
But  her  acts  of  affection  were  as  seed  sown  in  stony  places ; 
for  there  was  none  of  the  soil  of  love  in  his  heart  in  which 
they  could  take  root.  His  mother  only  stood  between  the 
two  to  avert  his  tyranny ;  but  she,  like  her  husband,  regard- 
ed his  rude  disregard  of  others  as  indications  of  promise, 
rather  than  signs  of  innate  depravity.  The  sister  had  come 
into  the  world  a  creature  of  the  finest  and  most  sensitive 
organization,  and  her  whole  life  had  been  imbittered  by  the 


256  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY: 

rude  heartlessness  of  her  brother;  but  it  could  not  crush  her 
loving  spirit,  or  cause  it  to  send  forth  any  thing  but  expres- 
sions of  gentleness  and  love.  It  is  a  wonder,  that  when,  so 
sensitive  and  affectionate,  she  had  seen  her  pets  ruthlessly 
killed  before  her  eyes,  her  doll-babies  torn  to  pieces,  and  her 
fine  clothes  rumpled  and  torn  by  her  cruel  brother,  she  had 
not  sickened  and  died.  Many  a  time  did  she  steal  away  to 
indulge  her  tears,  and,  for  a  time,  wish  she  were  dead :  but 
the  feeling  of  active  love  was  so  strong  within  her,  that,  after 
a  little  while,  she  would  put  away  such  ideas,  and  think,  per- 
haps, that  the  fault  was  her  own ;  and  then  she  would  set 
herself  to  devise  new  ways  to  please  her  unlovable  and 
unlovely  brother.  But  her  efforts  met  with  no  response 
except  derision  and  contempt;  and  the  life  she  led  under 
the  same  roof  with  her  brother  was  so  wretched  and  misera- 
ble, that  she  appeared  a  sickly  wee  thing,  gentle,  submissive, 
and  affectionate,  yet  so  fragile  withal,  that  her  lease  of  life 
seemed  doubtful  and  brief.  Yet  she  was  never  ill,  never  com- 
plaining. Though  her  form  was  spare,  her  cheeks  pale,  and 
her  eyes  had  a  look  of  premature  care,  yet  she  never  com- 
plained of  being  ill ;  and,  whenever  bid  by  her  brother  to  do 
any  task,  the  whole  of  her  little  strength  was  cheerfully 
applied  to  it,  hoping  thereby  to  win  an  approving  word. 
But  such  words  seldom  fell  to  her  from  a  source  so  barren  in 
affection  and  gratitude.  Her  child-heart  yearned  for  some 
one  who  could  sympathize  with  her  innermost  desires ;  but, 
as  yet,  she  had  been  repelled  in  all  her  affections.  She  was 
as  a  flower  in  the  desert,  and  must  wither  and  die  if  her 
young  soul  were  not  watered  by  the  springs  of  affection  and 
love.  But  like  the  fading,  perishing  rose,  that,  to  the  last, 
exhales  a  grateful  odor,  she,  in  her  loveliness,  only  breathed 
forth  thoughts  of  affection  and  kindness. 

At  this  period  of  her  life,  Hester  Homer  was  not  what  is 
generally  considered  a  handsome  child.  She  had,  it  is  true, 
eyes  of  striking  softness  and  beauty,  and  was  of  the  most 
delicate  complexion.  Her  hair  was  light  and  flaxen ;  and  her 
figure,  though  faultless  in  form,  seemed  too  ethereal  and  sha- 
dowy to  be  of  real  flesh  and  blood.  Certainly  she  was  very 
different  from  the  healthy,  buxom  children  of  that  day,  who 
became  the  mothers  of  a  succeeding  generation.  The  robust 
health  and  vigor  of  constitution  and  mind,  which,  in  the  de- 
veloped woman,  gave  an  air  of  thrift  and  comfort  to  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  257 

houses  of  the  daughters  of  New  England,  had  no  promise 
in  the  sensitive,  timid,  and  loving  Hester  Homer. 

It  was  only  the  day  before  Obededom  had  met  with  his 
accident  that  he  had  played  one  of  his  most  cruel  tricks  on 
his  over-sensitive  sister.  It  had  always  been  a  delight  of 
his  to  destroy  her  pets  and  playthings.  His  last  feat  had 
been  to  shoot  her  pet  lamb  in  the  eye  with  his  bow-gun ; 
which  caused  her  so  much  grief,  that  even  her  father  gave 
him  a  severe  reprimand,  and  sent  him  to  bed  with  a  sound 
flogging,  instead  of  his  supper.  Even  then,  Hester  begged 
that  she  might  carry  up  her  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  to  him. 
This  request  was  refused;  though,  a  little  later,  she  was 
allowed  to  go  up,  and  carry  him  a  piece  of  molasses-ginger- 
bread. She  found  the  young  brute  sulky  and  pouting ;  and, 
when  she  handed  him  the  cake,  he  caught  it,  and  threw  it  at  her 
head.  She  cried  now  worse  than  ever  at  having  her  kindness 
and  forgiveness  spurned  ;  and,  creeping  away  to  her  own  little 
bed,  sobbed  herself  to  sleep.  Two  days  after  this,  going 
into  the  kitchen-yard,  carrying  in  her  arms  a  Maltese  kitten 
that  had  been  given  her  the  day  before,  she  put  it  down,  and 
saw  it  run  at  a  piece  of  fresh  meat  that  was  lying  on  the 
ground.  It  had  been  thrown  there  by  Obededom,  who,  in 
his  wickedness,  had  attached  to  it  a  small  fish-hook  and  line ; 
and  the  latter  he  had  tied  to  a  fishing-rod  that  had  been  bent 
to  the  earth,  and,  by  an  ingenious  contrivance,  set  it  like  a 
trap,  so  that,  at  the  least  twitch  on  the  line,  it  would  spring 
into  the  air.  No  sooner  had  the  kitten  caught  the  tempting 
bit  in  her  mouth  than  the  hook  caught,  at  which  she  gave 
a  twitch,  which  set  free  the  bended  pole,  that  flew  up,  and 
held  poor  pussy  suspended  in  the  air  about  four  feet  from 
the  ground.  Hester  rushed  to  save  her  favorite ;  but  the  kit- 
ten did  not  distinguish  between  friend  and  foe,  and  scratched 
and  bit  the  arms,  hands,  and  neck  of  its  young  mistress,  so 
that  she  was  obliged  to  leave  it  still  pendent  from  the  string. 
But  her  screams  had  brought  her  mother  to  the  rescue,  who 
quickly  released  the  kitten  from  the  line ;  when  it  fled  away 
in  affright,  with  the  hook  still  in  its  mouth.  Obededom,  from 
a  hiding-place,  saw  the  success  of  his  stratagem ;  and,  think- 
ing it  best  not  to  show  himself  too  soon,  ran  away  to  one  of 
the  neighbors.  Though  forbidden  to  do  so,  he  insisted 
on  climbing  upon  a  loaded  cart,  and,  within  two  hours  after 
his  feat  with  the  kitten,  he  was  brought  home,  his  left  leg 

22* 


258  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

terribly  crushed  just  below  the  knee.  Dr.  Purkitt  was 
at  once  called  in,  and  a  messenger  was  despatched  to 
Bridgeville  for  Dr.  Keezar,  and  to  Tivernet  for  Dr.  Millett. 
A  consultation  was  held  by  the  three  physicians;  and  it 
was  decided  that  they  must  try  and  save  the  leg,  though 
Purkitt  was  of  opinion  that  amputation  would  be  safer 
and  less  troublesome.  The  limb  was  saved;  but  Obed- 
edom  was  subjected  to  a  very  long  confinement,  throughout 
which  he  suffered  the  most  intense  pain.  During  this  trial, 
he  was,  if  possible,  less  amiable  than  ever,  and  chafed,  fretted, 
and  complained  incessantly. 

The  sight  of  her  brother,  brought  home  maimed  and  sense- 
less, at  once  turned  to  another  object  the  tears  and  sorrows 
of  Hester,  who,  until  then,  could  think  of  nothing  but  the 
cruelty  that  had  been  practised  on  her  pretty  little  kitten, 
that  had  run  away  and  hid  with  the  barbed  hook  in  its 
mouth,  and  would  not  return,  though  she  sought  it  every- 
where. 

During  the  weary  months  that  Obededom  lay  on  his  back, 
Hester  seemed  to  forget  all  her  other  cares  and  sorrows, 
and  devoted  herself  solely  to  minister  to  his  wants,  and  be- 
guile the  time  of  his  racking  pains.  But  his  nature  was  so 
entirely  selfish,  that  he  had  no  idea  or  sense  of  gratitude,  and 
looked  on  all  attentions  received  as  his  by  right ;  and  would 
often  snarl  out  so  spitefully  at  his  timid  little  sister,  that  she 
would  steal  away,  abashed  and  in  tears,  to  contrive  some  new 
means  to  conciliate  him. 

At  first,  Walter  Gomery,  when  he  came  with  his  gifts  to 
offer  to  the  sick  boy,  was  not  allowed  to  see  him.  It  was 
thought  by  the  physicians  indispensable  that  he  should  lie 
entirely  quiet,  and  therefore  must  not  be  excited  or  disturbed 
by  the  presence  of  other  boys.  But  when  it  became  appa- 
rent that  the  leg  would  be  saved,  and  its  improved  condition 
rendered  slight  motion  less  dangerous,  he  was  admitted ;  and 
each  day  thereafter  he  was  sure  to  appear  with  something 
that  he  hoped  would  be  acceptable. 

In  one  sense  they  were  so ;  for  if,  by  any  chance,  he  did 
not  appear,  Obededom  was  sure  to  be  very  fretful  and  queru- 
lous, and  more  testy  and  ill-natured  towards  his  mother  and 
sister.  They  both,  therefore,  were  always  glad  to  see  Walter 
come  ;  and  though  they  could  not  conceal  their  shame  and 
regret  at  the  ungracious  return  that  Obededom  made  for  his 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  259 

kindness,  nevertheless  the  hours  passed  off  more  smoothly 
when  he  was  present. 

But  the  absence  of  all  sense  of  gratitude  towards  Walter 
was  as  nothing  to  that  displayed  towards  the  unfortunate 
Hester.  She  could  do  nothing  to  please  him ;  nothing  to 
provoke  a  kind  word  or  a  grateful  smile.  And  yet  she  was 
all  sweetness  and  gentleness,  sensitively  shrinking  back  when- 
ever she  approached  his  bed  to  adjust  his  pillow,  or  offer  a 
plum  or  a  cherry,  as  if  the  cruel  words  that  he  was  to  utter 
had  a  power  to  pierce  her  very  soul. 

Walter  witnessed  the  unbrotherly  and  unkind  returns  that 
Obededom  made  to  his  sister,  and  his  heart  was  every  day 
moved  with  pity  towards  her ;  and  it  was  not  many  days  be- 
fore the  two  had  a  bond  of  sympathy  between  them  in  the 
ungrateful  returns  of  him  whom  they  both  sought  to  concili- 
ate and  serve.  The  difference  in  their  ages  —  she  being  but 
nine  years  old,  and  he  nearly  fourteen  —  prevented  any  of 
that  diffidence  and  coyness  on  either  side  that  would  have 
restrained  them  had  she  been  three  or  four  years  older.  In- 
tuitively he  saw  that  she  was  a  child  of  a  most  gentle  and 
loving  nature ;  that  her  love  was  wasted  on  those  who  could 
not  appreciate  it,  and  that  it  came  back  on  her  own  heart, 
withering  its  best  impulses,  and  drying  up  the  springs  of 
affection.  Young  as  she  was,  she  already  had  a  look  of  anx- 
iety and  suffering.  She  was  lithe  and  sprightly;  yet  her 
figure  was  so  light  and  airy,  that  she  seemed  hardly  made  for 
earth ;  and  in  the  hard,  rough  natures  of  her  parents  there 
was  no  delicate  appreciation  of  an  organization  and  temper- 
ament so  delicate  and  sensitive.  To  a  close  observer  of  the 
finer  shades  of  character,  it  would  have  been  evident  that 
she  must  ere  long  have  an  object  on  which  to  fix  her  affec- 
tions, or  she  must  early  die.  It  had  been  the  daily  delight 
of  her  brother,  until  his  accident,  to  destroy  her  playthings 
and  tease  her  pets.  But  Walter  could  appreciate  her  child- 
ish efforts  to  please,  and  win  a  return  for  her  loving  acts. 
In  a  little  time  she  confided  to  him  her  little  griefs,  and  her 
little  plans  to  please.  He  entered  at  once  into  all  her  child- 
ish devices ;  and  the  gifts  he  intended  for  Obededom  came 
to  him  by  the  hands  of  the  unregarded  Hester.  The  two 
would  sometimes  go  off  together  in  the  fields  and  orchards 
to  look  for  berries  and  apples,  during  which  times  their  prin- 
cipal talk  was  of  ways  and  means  to  please  the  young  in- 


260  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

grate  lying  at  home  upon  his  bed.  In  time,  Walter  thought 
much  more  of  the  mild  blue  eyes  of  Hester  than  of  the  suf- 
fering, churlish  Obededom.  He  found  it  more  pleasant  to 
loiter  in  the  yard  with  Hester,  playing  with  her  pet  chickens 
and  ducks,  making  pens  and  coops  for  them,  than  to  sit  in 
the  room  of  Obed,  who  never  could  realize  a  sense  of  obliga- 
tion to  any  one.  The  latter  saw  that  a  feeling  of  affection 
and  confidence  was  growing  up  between  his  sister  and  Wal- 
ter ;  and  it  made  him  more  abusive  and  rude  towards  her  than 
ever.  Though  he  cared  not  for  her  love  for  himself,  he 
could  not  bear  that  she  should  find  in  another  that  sympathy 
which  he  could  not  feel;  and,  as  the  two  seemed  to  find 
more  pleasure  in  being  together  away  from  him,  he  thought 
they  both  wronged  him  by  robbing  him  one  of  the  other, 
and  hated  them  both  accordingly. 

But,  selfish  and  unamiable  as  Obededom  Homer  was,  he 
was  not,  as  this  world  goes,  devoid  of  redeeming  qualities. 
In  his  early  years  he  gave  such  evidences  of  thrift,  that  even 
Iago  might  have  commended  him ;  for  that  worldly  philoso- 
pher would  never  have  found  it  necessary  to  admonish  him 
to  "  put  money  in  his  purse."  Among  his  schoolmates  he 
had  ever  been  known  as  sharp  ;  for  he  was  always  ready  for  a 
trade  in  jack-knives,  skates,  jews-harps,  and  kickshaws;  and 
it  was  the  general  experience  of  all  who  dealt  with  him,  that 
he  got  the  best  of  a  bargain.  And,  though  all  knew  full  well 
that  he  was  always  the  winner  in  a  trade,  he  had  the  tact  and 
art  to  persuade  them  into  experiments  of  truck  and  dicker. 
He  gave  every  evidence  of  becoming  a  man  of  worldly  suc- 
cess. In  the  English  sense  of  the  word,  he  was  clever ;  but 
in  the  American  he  was  the  reverse.  He  was  sharp,  but  not 
amiable. 

These  qualities,  early  developed,  were  vastly  pleasing  to 
his  father,  who  was  a  man  of  thrift,  and  was,  like  too  many 
others  in  this  wicked  world,  accustomed  to  regard  a  faculty 
for  acquiring  money  as  the  only  one  really  needful.  In  the 
shrewd  selfishness  of  Obededom,  he  saw  signs  of  great  prom- 
ise ;  but,  in  the  gentle  nature  of  Hester,  there  was  little  to 
excite  his  admiration.  She  bade  fair  to  attain  to  rare  beauty 
if  she  could  but  gain  a  little  more  strength  and  cheerfulness; 
and  this  quality  her  father  and  mother  both  regarded  as  cap- 
ital, that  should  secure  her,  not  love  for  love,  but  a  man  of 
worldly  goods.     During  the  long  half-year  that  her  brother 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  261 

lay  helpless  on  the  bed,  Hester  Homer  became  very  much 
changed  from  what  she  had  been  at  the  time  of  his  accident. 
Her  cheek  was  no  longer  pale  and  colorless  ;  and  the  unhap- 
py look  that  seemed  prematurely  to  have  settled  on  her 
brow  was  fast  disappearing.  She  was  no  longer  brooding 
over  lost  pets,  or  seeking  in  vain  for  some  one  to  whom  she 
could  approach,  and  confide  her  affection.  No  one  of  her 
own  family  could  appreciate  her,  and  she  was  not  even  al- 
lowed to  love  her  dolls  and  kittens  in  peace.  If  the  former 
were  torn  to  pieces,  and  the  latter  worried  and  hunted,  by 
her  big  brother,  both  her  father  and  mother  thought  it  rather 
a  joke  to  laugh  at  than  a  fault  to  be  rebuked,  and  scolded 
her  for  her  tears.  But  the  coming  of  Walter  had  opened  a 
new  life  to  her.  Of  course  she  felt  nothing  of  that  love, 
which,  at  a  much  later  period  of  her  life,  was  to  move  her 
young  heart,  and  send  the  blood  coursing  more  livelily 
through  her  veins.  She  would  have  felt  equally  grateful  to 
any  child  of  her  own  sex,  or  to  an  old  grandmother,  if  she 
could  only  find  an  object  to  accept,  appreciate,  and  return 
her  love. 

By  the  time  the  snow  flew,  Obededom  was  so  far  recovered 
as  to  be  able  to  sit  in  his  arm-chair  all  day ;  and,  before 
Christmas,  he  could  get  about  the  house  on  crutches.  Wal- 
ter's visits  were  now  necessarily  suspended  for  the  most  part ; 
for  the  public  school  had  commenced  a  month  before,  and  he 
must  be  punctual  in  his  attendance.  There  he  met,  each 
day,  the  gentle  Hester;  and,. when  she  was  away  from  it, 
the  house  of  Thomas  Homer  had  small  charms  for  him. 
But,  as  the  winter  advanced,  he  thought  less  and  less  of 
them  all,  including  little  Hester ;  and  she  found,  in  her  school- 
mates of  her  own  sex,  corresponding  returns  for  that  affec- 
tion which  had  before  been  lavished  almost  entirely  on  Wal- 
ter. So,  when  the  term  ended  in  the  spring,  they  had  both 
so  many  other  friends  in  the  school,  that  they  were  no  longer 
to  each  other  what  they  had  been.  With  the  close  of  the 
school,  we  will  leave  Hester  to  her  desolate  life  at  home. 
But,  during  the  past  year,  the  crisis  of  her  childhood  has 
passed.  The  flower  that  was  withering,  and  like  to  die,  has 
been  revived  by  the  waters  of  affection,  and  taken  fresh  root 
in  the  earth.  Alas  for  her !  —  it  had  been  better  that  the* 
sickly  bud  had  then  perished. 


262  GOMERY  OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER  XX. 


"  How  rarely  Reason  guides  the  stubborn  choice, 
Rules  the  bold  hand,  or  prompts  the  suppliant  voice ! 
How  nations  sink,  by  darling  schemes  oppressed, 
When  vengeance  listens  to  the  fool's  request !  "  —  Dk.  JOHNSON, 

The  spring  at  Montgomery  Village  opened,  if  possible, 
more  tame  and  monotonous  than  usual.  The  farmers  at- 
tended to  their  farms,  the  mechanics  to  their  shops :  there 
were  neither  dancing  nor  singing  parties ;  and  the  attempts 
at  a  revival  in  the  early  part  of  the  winter  having  proved  a 
failure,  and  that  constant  source  of  amusement  and  mischief, 
Joe  Pumpagin,  having  gone  away,  nothing  had  occurred,  for 
three  months,  of  sufficient  importance  for  a  tea-table  topic. 
There  had  not  been  in  all  that  time  a  death  or  a  funeral;  and 
the  whole  community  were  suffering  for  an  accident,  a  quar- 
rel, or  a  scandal,  that  might  give  them  something  to  talk 
about.  But  at  last  this  painful  quiet  is  broken  by  the  arrival 
of  a  fine  double  carriage  drawn  by  a  span  of  stout  bays, 
which,  as  a  matter  of  course,  goes  directly  up  to  the  Pivot. 
This  carriage,  as  was  suspected,  contained  some  of  the  rich  re- 
latives of  Gomery  of  Montgomery ;  and  the  marvel  was,  which 
of  them  they  were.  It  was  soon  known,  however,  that  the 
party  consisted  of  Thomas  Fogue,  the  rich  New-York 
brother-in-law  of  the  squire,  his  wife,  and  two  children. 
They  had  been  so  well  pleased  with  their  former  visit,  and  it 
had  had  so  good  an  effect  on  the  feeble  health  of  their 
youngest  child,  that  they  had  come  on  a  second  excursion 
into  the  hills,  intending  to  make  a  long  family  visit.  They 
brought  letters  from  Theron  to  every  member  of  the  family, 
from  the  squire  to  Walter.  He  also  sent  such  presents  as 
"he  could  afford  ;  for  his  uncle,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  city 
temptations,  and  a  prudent  regard  for  his  nephew's  welfare, 
had  forewarned  his  father  that  the  success  of  his  son  would 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  263 

probably  be  in  the  inverse  ratio  of  his  pocket-money.  But 
though  Theron  saw  little  of  the  august  Fogue  in  the  city, 
and,  when  he  did  see  him,  never  ventured  to  speak  to  him, 
he  was  not  so  entirely  forgotten  and  neglected  by  him  as  he 
supposed.  It  was  the  habit  of  the  rich  banker  to  walk  pom- 
pously into  the  bank,  and,  with  an  air  of  great  dignity  and 
self-complacency,  take  a  deliberate  look  at  the  clerks,  and  no- 
tice carefully  the  general  arrangement ;  observing  if  each 
clerk  was  properly  employed,  and  kept  his  desk,  books,  and 
papers  in  neat  and  systematic  order ;  and  then  walk  through 
to  his  private  office,  and  there  read  his  letters,  and  attend  to 
that  general  supervising  of  the  bank-affairs  which  might  be 
required  from  a  faithful  servant  of  Mammon.  This  was 
about  all  that  Theron  saw  of  the  rich  banker ;  and,  if  he  ever 
encountered  his  cousins,  they  passed  without  seeming  to  rec- 
ognize him ;  though,  if  their  mother  was  with  them,  she  would 
always  detain  him  to  inquire  about  his  family  in  Montgom- 
ery. But,  on  the  whole,  he  found  that  his  relationship  was 
more  irksome  than  advantageous  in  the  performance  of  his 
duties. 

Yet,  as  has  been  said,  Fogue  was  not  unmindful  of  him. 
He  noticed  his  punctuality  and  industry,  and  made  sure 
that  his  time  was  not  misspent  when  the  hours  of  duty  at 
the  bank  were  over.  On  his  first  coming  into  the  city,  and 
while  he  was  yet  a  guest  at  his  uncle's  house,  the  old  man 
had  questioned  him  in  his  studies,  and,  giving  him  a  bit  of 
paper  and  a  pencil,  asked  him  to  cast  the  interest  on  a 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty-three  dollars  and  ninety- 
one  cents,  at  five  and  one  third  per  cent  annually.  The  an- 
swer was  soon  given  ;  and  as  the  old  man  had  taken  care  to 
have  the  same  question  put  to  an  expert  clerk  in  the  bank, 
and  had  the  result  on  a  slip  of  paper  in  his  pocket,  he  saw  at 
once  that  Theron's  figures  were  correct.  This  pleased  the 
man  of  method;  and  he  then  asked  for  a  specimen  of  his  hand- 
writing, at  the  sight  of  which  he  was  not  so  well  pleased. 
Having  thus  informed  himself  in  regard  to  the  qualifications 
of  his  wife's  nephew,  he  sat  himself  squarely  in  his  arm-chair; 
and,  pushing  his  gold  spectacles  back  upon  his  forehead,  he 
thus  addressed  him :  — 

"Theron  Gomery,  you  are  the  nephew  of  my  wife;  for 
which  reason,  I  shall  give  you  some  valuable  advice.  In 
the  first  place,  you  must  understand,  that,  though  you  are  re- 


264  GOMERY  OP  MONTGOMERY  : 

lated  to  my  family,  you  will  not  come  to  this  house  again  for 
a  year.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  you  will  move  in  the 
same  circles  as  my  children,  as  you  must  make  your  own 
way  in  the  world.  You  must  begin  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 
There  is  where  my  father  began.  He  commenced  by  catch- 
ing fish,  and  selling  them  out ;  and,  by  being  prudent  and 
careful,  he  accumulated  money,  and  bought  a  smack,  and  sold, 
in  his  own  saloon,  oysters  that  his  own  boat  brought  to  the 
city.  He  was  great  at  a  stew ;  and  the  first  I  can  remember 
of  him  was  his  standing  over  the  coals  in  his  cellar,  cooking 
oysters.  But  he  made  a  large  fortune ;  and,  when  I  came  to 
man's  estate,  he  lived  in  one  of  the  best  houses  in  the  city  of 
New  York,  and  had  one  of  the  largest  incomes.  That  is  the 
way  for  you  to  do,  my  boy.  Begin  at  the  bottom,  and  work 
up.  Be  satisfied  with  your  position,  and  don't  try  to  get 
into  one  where  you  do  not  belong.  My  children  will  have 
no  need  to  be  economical,  as  you  must  be,  as  I  have  enough 
to  leave  them  all  rich ;  and  of  course  you  will  not  expect  to 
associate  with  them,  since  they  only  move  in  the  best  soci- 
ety. Among  the  old  and  rich  families,  it  is  a  point  of  honor 
not  to  bring  in  any  of  their  poor  relations.  We  wish  to 
build  up  an  upper  class  to  be  a  conservative  interest  in  the 
country,  and  keep  in  check  the  dangerous  tendencies  and 
power  of  the  democratic  masses.  We  have  not  the  position 
that  our  wealth  would  give  us  in  any  other  part  of  the  world. 
Even  our  brethren  at  the  South  are  better  off  than  we  are;  for 
their  institutions  are  better  and  stronger  than  ours ;  giving 
property  more  power  over  labor  than  it  has  among  us. 
There  a  man  with  large  property  has  great  influence;  for  the 
poor  people  are  kept  down,  and,  as  in  England  (which  country 
we  ought  to  copy),  are  so  largely  dependent  on  the  landlord 
and  capitalist,  that  they  are  obliged  in  all  things  to  follow 
his  lead  and  second  his  wishes.  But  here,  where  the  fell 
spirit  of  democracy  is  destroying  all  the  great  pillars  of 
rank  and  government,  what  am  I,  Thomas  Fogue,  with  all 
my  wealth,  more  than  another  man  without  a  hundredth  part 
as  much  ?  My  coachman's  vote  counts  the  same  as  mine ; 
and,  if  I  tell  him  he  must  vote  as  I  do,  he  ups  and  tells  me 
he  is  not  my  slave,  and  that  I  can  get  somebody  else  if  he 
don't  suit  me.  And,  what  is  more  aggravating  still,  they 
make  us  pay  taxes,  and  educate  their  children  when  it  is 
much  better  for  us  not  to  have  them  educated,  but  to  man- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  265 

age  the  affairs  of  government  in  our  own  way.  But  I  do 
not  suppose  you  can  understand  these  things  fully  as  yet ; 
and  I  give  you  this  admonition  in  time,  lest  you  get  into 
your  head  the  foolish  idea  that  so  many  upstarts  are  prating 
about,  that  property  will  be  safe  if  the  people  are  well  edu- 
cated. But  it  is  a  dangerous  error.  Government  should 
always  be  in  the  hands  of  those  who  have  most  at  stake. 
They  are  sure  to  be  conservative,  and  to  keep  things  as  they 
are.  You  should  remember,  if  you  would  be  respected  by 
the  rich  and  wise,  always  to  be  conservative." 

Theron  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  this  speech  of  the 
successful  man  of  business.  It  was  not  a  speech  made  for 
him,  but  was  a  coarse  rehash  of  the  bank-office  conversation, 
such  as  was  wont  to  be  held  in  the  private  office  of  the  bank 
by  the  president  and  directors  of  the  institution,  and  which 
was  delivered  in  an  oracular  way,  as  if  every  word  weighed 
a  pound.  But  the  boy  was  not  so  deeply  impressed  with 
the  sage  remarks  of  his  superior  as  the  latter  supposed ;  and 
when  the  prospered  man  assumed  that  the  young  Gomery 
must  ever  move  in  a  lower  sphere  than  his  cousins,  because 
they  were  a  generation  in  advance  of  him  on  the  road  to 
wealth,  he  mentally  rebelled  against  it,  but  only  said  he  should 
do  his  duty,  and  make  the  most  of  his  advantages. 

On  leaving  his  country  home,  Theron  had  received  good 
advice  from  both  father  and  mother,  and  inwardly  resolved 
to  follow  it.  "  Do  every  thing  well,"  said  his  father,  "  as 
well  as  possible,  in  starting  in  life ;  and  every  thing  will  come 
easy  to  your  hand  as  you  advance.  Learn  to  write  a  good 
hand ;  spare  no  pains  for  that ;  and  it  shall  save  you  months, 
if  not  years,  of  labor.  With  an  easy,  rapid,  and  legible  hand, 
you  can  get  through  well  in  an  hour,  what,  with  a  slow, 
cramped  hand,  you  can  only  badly  do  in  double  the  time. 
Then  get  every  thing  in  the  way  of  business  thoroughly 
fixed  in  your  mind.  Have  every  thing  of  a  practical  charac^ 
ter  indelibly  stamped  on  your  memory;  so  that  you  can  draw 
any  paper,  bill,  or  instrument,  without  looking  at  a  form. 
Know  all  about  the  details  of  your  business ;  and,  if  you 
should  ever  have  others  under  you,  you  will  then  know  who 
are  faithful  and  capable,  and  who  are  not.  But  if  you  ever 
undertake  any  business,  with  the  routine  and  details  of  which 
you  are  not  familiar,  you  will  be  robbed  and  cheated,  and  at 
last  find  that  your  plans,  however  well  devised,  will  mis- 

23 


266  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY  : 

carry.  Remember  these  words,  my  son,  and  they  shall  be 
better  to  you  than  houses  and  lands.  An  hour  of  study  now 
will  save  you  months  of  labor  hereafter.  Therefore  my 
parting  advice  is  for  you  to  improve  all  your  time  for  the 
first  two  or  three  years  that  you  are  away  from  home  ;  then 
you  will  not  only  have  formed  habits  of  industry  and  regu- 
larity, but  your  path  of  life  will  be  free  from  surprises  and 
thorns.     Dr.  Franklin  says,  — 

'  He  who  would  thrive  must  rise  at  five  ; 
But  he  who  hath  thriven  may  sleep  till  seven.' 

You  will  find,  if  you  follow  this  course,  that,  though  you 
have  accumulated  little,  you  have  so  prepared  the  way,  that 
all  else  will  be  easy  and  pleasant.  You  will  have  thriven,  and 
you  may  '  sleep  till  seven ; '  for  you  will  know  so  well  how 
every  thing  is  going  on,  that  you  will  have  no  anxiety  on 
you  mind." 

That  this  was  good  advice,  every  man  who  has  failed  and 
blundered  through  life  will  admit ;  and  it  was  not  lost  on 
Theron  Gomery.  He  put  himself  to  his  work  with  a  will; 
and,  though  his  life  was  not  enlivened  by  any  social  inter- 
course, it  did  not  pass  heavily,  for  it  was  always  occupied. 
Ere'  the  sun  was  up  in  the  summer-time,  he  was  away  to  a 
free  bath  in  the  Hudson,  from  which  he  returned  to  read 
such  books  as  his  father  had  advised  him  to  purchase  and 
study.  His  evenings  were  spent  at  a  night-school,  where 
penmanship  and  bookkeeping  were  taught;  and,  when  the 
hours  of  the  school  were  past,  he  would  return  to  his  scanti- 
ly furnished  room,  and  there  sit  at  his  table  till  his  allow- 
ance of  candle  was  consumed,  practising  his  new  style  of 
calligraphy,  and  drawing  from  memory  various  instru- 
ments, the  forms  of  which  he  were  given  in  his  text-book  on 
bookkeeping.  With  such  habits,  he  could  but  make  rapid 
progress ;  and  at  the  end  of  a  year,  when  questioned  with 
a  view  to  advancement,  if  qualified,  it  was  found  there  was 
not  a  branch  of  the  whole  business  of  which  he  did  not 
know  the  entire  details.  He  was  advanced  at  once ;  his 
salary  increased  ;  and,  instead  of  being  the  boy  of  all  work  to 
run  at  everybody's  call,  he  was  promoted  to  a  desk,  and 
thenceforth  dignified  as  "Mr." 

This  was  the  report  that  good  Mr.  Fogue  took  home  to 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  267 

his  parents ;  and  when  he  got  a  letter  from  his  mother,  recit- 
ing the  kind  things  that  had  been  said  of  him,  and  wonder- 
ing how  he  could  so  dislike  so  just  and  considerate  a  man,  as 
he  appeared  to  do  from  his  letters  home,  he  felt  a  sort  of 
self-condemnation.  But  when  he  remembered  the  old  man's 
admonition,  that  he  must  not  ever  expect  to  move  in  the 
same  circles  as  his  own  children,  his  resentment  revived,  and 
he  snapped  his  fingers,  and  said  he  would  consider  that  point 
farther  on  in  the  race. 

The  good  character  which  Fogue  gave  to  his  folks  at  home 
was  not  limited  to  them;  but  on  one  occasion,  when  his 
aunt  from  Philadelphia  was  on  a  visit  to  New  York  with  her 
husband,  he  told  her  that  her  nephew  from  the  country  was 
a  most  excellent  boy,  the  most  apt  and  handy  he  had  ever 
had  in  his  employ,  and  was  sure  to  make  his  way  in  the 
world.  This  conversation  took  place  at  the  breakfast-table, 
where  sat  the  two  aunts  and  their  husbands,  besides  young 
Lester  Fogue,  who  was  the  first-fruit  of  the  union  of  Thomas 
Fogue  and  Margaret  Mackenzie,  and  was  of  about  the  same 
age  as  Theron  Gomery. 

"  It  strikes  me,"  said  Mrs.  Fogue,  "  that,  being  my  sister's 
child,  if  he  is  so  well-behaved,  he  might  be  permitted  to  come 
to  the  house  occasionally." 

"I  will  tell  him  to  come  up  this  evening,  so  that  he  may 
see  his  Aunt  Gilderkin." 

"I  should  be  delighted  to  see  him,"  said  Mrs  Gilderkin; 
and  her  husband  joined  in  the  request  that  he  might  be  per- 
mitted to  come  and  see  them  in  the  evening. 

"  He  is  a  curiosity,"  said  young  Lester,  who  felt  a  great  con- 
tempt for  all  his  country  relations. 

"  How  is  that,"  said  Gilderkin,  "  if  he  is  so  well-behaved 
and  so  faithful  a  clerk?  " 

"  A  clerk!  a  clerk  coming  here,  and  so  green  too !  I  hope 
none  of  my  friends  will  call  this  evening  if  that  cub  is  com- 
ing. He  hasn't  pluck  enough  to  smoke  a  cigar  without  it's 
making  him  sick ;  and,  if  you  were  to  offer  him  a  glass  of 
wine,  he  would  be  so  scared,  he  would  want  to  run  home 
and  tell  his  mother." 

"  But  he  had  pluck  enough  to  throw  you  into  the  horse- 
pond,  and  keep  you  there  till  you  brought  out  little  Walter's 
cap,  that  you  had  thrown  in  ;  and  he  served  you  right  too,"  re- 
plied his  mother  excitedly.     "And,  if  you  had  been  as  much 


268  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY: 

afraid  of  a  glass  of  wine  as  he  is,  your  father  would  not  have 
been  obliged  to  pay  a  hundred  and  sixteen  dollars  for  the 
glass  and  furniture  you  broke  at  one  of  your  rowdy  dinners 
in  the  City  Hotel." 

"I  thought,"  said  Lester,  turning  to  his  father,  "you  ap- 
proved of  my  associating  with  gentlemen ;  and,  if  I  did  so, 
you  have  always  told  me  not  to  mind  the  expense.  And 
now  you  are  praising  up  this  country  bumpkin,  as  if  he  was 
an  example  for  me  to  follow.  But  I  won't  see  him  ;  I  won't 
stay  in  the  house  if  he  comes  here ;  "  and  with  this  he  got 
up  angrily  from  the  table,  and  left  the  room. 

"That  is  the  right  spirit,"  said  his  father.  "I  have  always 
encouraged  him  and  all  my  children  to  be  very  choice  in 
their  company.  Brother  Gilderkin,  it  is  such  families  as  ours 
that  are  the  only  hope  and  safety  of  the  country.  Now,  the 
spirit  that  Lester  shows  is  worthy  of  a  young  English  lord 
or  a  young  Southern  planter.  I  only  praised  his  cousin  in 
order  to  badger  him,  so  that  you  might  see  that  I  have  not 
neglected  the  education  of  my  children.  I  am  proud  to  see 
them  manifest  a  proper  spirit,  and  sense  of  thetr  position. 
However,  we  will  have  this  young  Theron  up  here  this  even- 
ing, that  you  may  all  take  a  look  at  him ;  but  he  must 
understand  that  he  is  not  to  repeat  the  visit.  I  will  speak 
to  him  on  the  matter  to-day." 

Here  the  conversation  ended,  and  the  company  rose  from 
the  table.  The  two  rich  men,  having  smoked  their  cigars 
and  glanced  over  the  morning  papers,  left  the  house,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  walk  down  town,  as  Fogue  said  he  found  it  a  good, 
healthy  exercise.  They  parted  at  the  door  of  the  Bullion 
Bank;  Fogue  to  go  in  and  attend  to  business,  and  Gilderkin 
to  go  farther  down,  to  South  Street,  to  the  counting-room  of 
his  brother,  a  large  importer. 

In  the  course  of  the  morning,  a  message  was  sent  to  The- 
ron that  the  president  wanted  to  see  him  in  his  private  office. 
The  youth  obeyed  the  summons,  and  found  the  portly  old 
man  sitting  at  his  table,  spectacles  on  nose,  examining  some 
letters  and  papers.  On  seeing  the  young  man  enter,  he  sat 
back  in  his  chair,  and  pushed  up  his  spectacles  till  they  rested 
on  his  forehead,  and  motioned  the  visitor  to  a  seat.  Then, 
looking  very  wise  for  about  two  minutes,  he  began  :  — 

"  Theron,  I  have  called  you  in  here  to  express  to  you  my  en- 
tire satisfaction  with  your  conduct  since  you  have  been  in  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  269 

employ  of  this  institution.  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  you ; 
and  as  I  informed  you  when  you  first  came,  that,  owing  to 
the  fact  that  you  had  been  brought  up  in  lower  society  than 
my  children  "  — 

"Much  higher,  with  all  due  respect,"  said  Theron. 

"Young  man,  you  are  not  to  contradict  me  in  my  office.! 
None  of  your  impertinence  !  " 

"I  had  no  wish  to  be  impertinent :  but  when  any  man  un- 
derrates my  father  and  mother,  and  speaks  of  them  as  lower 
than  anybody  else,  I  will  contradict  him;  and  I  don't  care 
who  it  is." 

"  It  is  very  right  for  you  to  speak  wrell  of  your  father  and 
mother.  They  are  very  good,  worthy  people,  I  do  not 
doubt,  —  very  honest  and  respectable ;  but,  not  having  moved 
in  our  circles,  of  course  they  do  not  understand  the  genteel 
and  polite  ways  that  are  familiar  to  us.  But  that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  Your  Uncle  Gilderkin  and  wife  are  at  my 
house ;  and,  as  a  mark  of  the  appreciation  we  have  of  your 
good  conduct,  we  have  decided  that  you  may  come  to  the 
house  this  evening,  and  spend  a  couple  of  hours.  But  it 
must  be  understood,  that,  in  granting  this  great  privilege,  no 
concession  is  mnde;  and  you  are  not  to  repeat  the  visit  except 
by  special  invitation.  My  son  Lester  is  very  proud  and  se- 
lect in  his  company,  as  I  have  felt  it  my  duty  as  a  leading 
member  of  my  class  to  encourage  him  to  be;  and,  as  none 
but  the  sons  of  those  who  are  in  like  position  with  myself, 
and  who  are  acting  with  me  to  build  up  an  aristocracy  like 
what  they  have  in  the  old  European  countries,  are  accus- 
tomed to  visit  him,  of  course  it  would  not  be  agreeable  to 
either  party  to  meet  the  other." 

"  Certainly  it  would  not  be  to  me." 

" Very  well,  then:  we  shall  expect  you  at  eight  o'clock 
this  evening."  Saying  this,  the  man  of  money  turned  to  his 
papers ;  and  the  young  clerk  left  the  room  for  his  own  desk 
in  the  other  part  of  the  building. 

From  the  defect  of  education  which  Fogue  had  observed 
and  commented  on,  or  from  some  other  cause,  Theron  did 
not  appreciate  the  honor  which  the  bank  president  had  prof- 
fered him.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  a  feeling  of  great  con- 
tempt for  him  and  his  opinions ;  and,  as  he  returned  to  his 
desk,  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  When  I  go  to  your  house,  it 
will  not  be  by  courtesy  or  condescension." 

23* 


270  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

The  evening  came ;  and  the  two  sisters,  Mrs.  Fogue  and 
Mrs.  Gilderkin,  sat  in  the  parlor  of  the  former,  talking  over 
their  days  of  childhood,  in  the  course  of  which  it  was  natu- 
ral for  them  to  allude  to  their  sister,  Mrs.  Gomery ;  and  this 
led  them  to  comment  on  the  strange  caprice  of  their  sister 
in  taking  up  with  Freeborn  Gomery,  when  she  could  have 
commanded  the  hand  and  fortune  of  the  richest  man  in  the 
country.  This,  again,  led  to  remarks  on  the  expectant  vis- 
itor, whom  the  Philadelphia  aunt  had  not  seen  for  several 
years,  and  the  other  but  two  or  three  times  since  his  first  ar- 
rival in  New  York.  The  brothers-in-law  were  in  the  library, 
discussing  bank-matters,  expressing  the  greatest  concern  at 
the  new  doctrine  lately  broached  by  the  President  of  the  na- 
tion in  regard  to  the  great  bank  of  the  country. 

"Brother  Fogue,"  said  Gilderkin,  "we  are  not  now  pre- 
pared for  a  crisis.  This  interference  with  the  finances  of  the 
country  by  the  Government  is  a  great  outrage.  It  is  down- 
right robbery,  and  a  gross  outrage  on  vested  rights.  It  is 
forcing  a  crisis  that  we  are  not  prepared  for.  A  crisis  brought 
about  in  the  legitimate  way,  at  a  proper  time,  is  an  excellent 
thing ;  but  it  must  be  worked  up  by  the  moneyed  interest  of 
the  country,  and  not  precipitated  when  we  are  not  prepared 
to  take  advantage  of  it.  Our  securities  are  not  now  in  the 
right  shape  for  a  crisis,  and  the  public  confidence  is  so  affected 
already,  that  we  shall  not  be  able  to  improve  them ;  and, 
though  we  can  doubtless  protect  ourselves  from  loss,  we  can 
make  nothing  compared  with  what  we  could  have  done  had 
matters  been  kept  quiet,  and  business  gone  on  prosperously 
for  a  few  years  longer.  Since  the  last  crash,  people  have  not 
got  fairly  launched  into  speculation ;  and  a  crisis  now  would 
give  us  nothing  compared  with  what  it  would  do  if  the  thing 
were  left  in  our  own  hands,  where  it  belongs,  and  the  Gov- 
ernment had  the  sense  not  to  meddle  with  the  currency. 
Then  a  well-timed  and  well -managed  crisis  would  have 
swept  by  the  board  a  multitude  of  small  jobbers,  builders, 
manufacturers,  and  other  struggling  adventurers  ;  and  all 
could  have  been  gathered  up  by  those  having  surplus  capital. 
By  getting  mortages  and  liens  on  the  real  property  of  such, 
and  then  forcing  a  crisis  which  shall  greatly  depreciate  prices, 
we  can  secure  all  their  accumulations  to  ourselves  for  one- 
half  its  intrinsic  value.  But,  to  effect  these  operations,  there 
must  be  a  tacit  union  of  capitalists,  who  must  lead  people  on 


A   FAMILY    HISTOEY.  271 

to  speculation  and  extravagance,  and  not  contract  the  cur- 
rency until  their  securities  are  on  real  property.  Then  there 
is  no  actual  loss  of  property  in  a  financial  crash.  It  only 
changes  from  the  hands  of  the  active  tradesman  and  opera- 
tor to  the  capitalist  who  has  accommodated  him.  Now,  this 
commendable  thrift,  and  shrewd  use  of  our  means,  are  all 
liable  to*  be  rendered  ineffectual,  and  set  at  nought,  by  the 
bungling  intervention  of  this  bush-fighter  now  at  the  head  of 
the  Government.  In  my  opinion,  his  conduct  deserves  im- 
peachment. He  is  breaking  up  all  the  safeguards  of  the 
Government.  With  his  co-operation,  we  could  have  built  up 
a  strong,  conservative  interest  that  would  have  been  able  to 
shape  the  policy  of  the  nation;  and,  by  wielding  the  capital 
in  such  a  way  as  to  control  the  labor,  would  have  made  the 
Government  strong,  central,  and  conservative." 

"  You  say  right^  Brother  Gilderkin.  You  have  expressed 
my  ideas  better  than  I  could  have  done  for  myself.  I  con- 
sider that  this  wrong-headed  man  now  in  the  presidential 
chair  has  put  back  the  country  at  least  fifty  years.  And  it  is 
all  owing  to  our  system  of  Government.  We  shall  always  be 
exposed  to  civil  commotion,  and  to  having  our  plans  thwart- 
ed, until  we  have  a  recognized  aristocracy,  —  an  upper  and 
wealthy  class,  that  shall  have  its  distinct  place  and  power  in 
the  Government ;  and  it  is  our  duty  to  unite,  and  break  down 
this  demagogue  and  innovator,  who  seeks  to  destroy  all  the 
rights  and  powers  that  capital  has  and  ought  to  have  over 
labor." 

"I  would  willingly  aid  in  that,"  said  Gilderkin,  "with  my 
vote,  my  pen,  my  voice,  and  my  money,  if  I  could  only  see 
how  to  effect  any  good  result.  The  people,  at  least  the  more 
ignorant  of  them,  are  against  us;  and  as  for  the  President, 
he  has  the  post  of  power,  and  what  can  we  do?" 

"Do?  What  is  his  power  compared  with  ours,  if  we  are 
but  united,  patriotic,  and  determined  ?  Let  there  be  a  gen- 
eral union  of  capitalists  against  him.  Let  us  call  in  the 
money  we  have  got  out ;  let  us  refuse  any  more  loans ;  let 
us  compel  the  manufacturers  to  suspend  their  works,  destroy 
credit,  and  bring  on  general  bankruptcy ;  let  the  men  go 
about  the  streets  begging  for  work,  the  women  for  bread ; 
and  let  them  understand  that  all  this  evil  has  come  upon 
them  through  the  act  of  their  President,  —  and  they  will,  if 
necessary,  tear  him  from  the  White  House,  and  hang  him  to 


272  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

the  gate-post  of  the  Capitol.  Force  the  ignorant  multitude 
to  depose  him  :  that  is  my  way!  " 

"  You  are  for  strong  measures,  Brother  Fogue ;  but  there  is 
reason  in  what  you  say.  At  least,  I  will  carefully  consider  it ; 
and  on  my  return  to  Philadelphia  we  will  have  a  meeting  of 
our  heaviest  men,  and  then  we  will  give  the  subject  our  serious 
attention.  One  thing  is  very  clear,  —  something  must  be 
done." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  call  from  the 
other  room,  and  the  two  patriots  adjourned  to  the  parlor. 

"  I  thought,"  said  Mrs.  Gilderkin,  addressing  Fogue,  "  we 
were  to  see  our  nephew  here  to-night.  You  invited  him ; 
did  you  not?" 

"  Invited !  No,  I  don't  invite  my  clerks.  I  told  him  to 
come ;  to  be  here  at  eight  o'clock ;  and  here  it  is  nearly  nine. 
That  is  the  way  with  these  country  boys :  they  have  no  pro- 
per respect  for  those  above  them." 

"  You  say  that  he  is  a  young  man  that  is  attentive  to  his 
business,  and  a  good  clerk  ?  " 

"  As  for  that,  he  is  the  best  I  ever  saw :  he  is  quick  as  an 
eel,  and  does  every  thing  in  the  most  perfect  and  systematic 
manner.  He  seems  to  know  every  thing  about  the  bank  and 
all  its  customers;  and  only  last  week,  at  a  meeting  of  the 
directors,  he  sent  in  a  memorandum,  that,  but  for  the  impor- 
tant nature  of  its  contents,  would  have  caused  his  immediate 
dismissal  for  impertinence." 

"  How  was  that,  Brother  Fogue  ?  " 

"  It  was  in  this  way :  One  of  our  heaviest  debtors,  it  seems, 
had  got  into  a  bad  way,  and  was  privately  disposing  of  his 
goods.  But  he  had  not  got  every  thing  ready  for  a  grand 
failure;  for  he  wanted  to  have  his  accounts  once  more  bal- 
anced with  us,  and  then  he  would  expect  to  enlarge  his  mar- 
gin, and  overdraw  to  a  large  amount.  This  note  from  The- 
ron  Gomery  was  simply  a  suggestion,  that  when  he  made  his 
next  deposit,  preliminary  to  balancing  the  books,  his  account 
should  be  closed  till  his  affairs  could  be  investigated.  On 
reading  this  note  to  the  board,  every  one  of  the  directors 
was  as  indignant  as  if  the  cashier  had  absconded  with  his 
trunk-full  of  money.  In  fact,  I  was  quite  angry  myself;  and 
we  all  considered  it  a  piece  of  presumption,  impertinence, 
and  insubordination,  besides  being  a  gross  slander  on  one  of 
our  best  customers,  —  a  man  of  large  means,  and  doing  a  fine 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  273 

business.  So  a  vote  was  taken  that  he  be  permitted  to  re- 
sign his  position.  Afterwards  it  was  decided  to  follow  his 
advice,  and  not  notify  him  of  his  dismissal  till  the  result  was 
known.  The  next  day,  the  man's  account  was  squared  ;  and 
the  day  after,  a  note  was  sent  to  him,  that,  as  the  bank  was 
about  to  contract,  it  would  not,  for  the  present,  accommodate 
him  any  further.  The  next  morning  his  store  was  not  opened, 
and  it  was  found  he  had  made  the  worst  failure  of  the  sea- 
son. But  for  that  note,  he  would  have  got  thirty  or  perhaps 
fifty  thousand  dollars ;  and  that  afternoon,  when  we  had  a 
special  meeting  to  consider  the  case,  finding  that  this  boy 
had  saved  us  the  money,  we  reconsidered  our  vote  to  dis- 
charge him,  and  it  was  left  to  me  to  give  him  such  repri- 
mand as,  in  my  judgment,  his  impertinence  deserved." 

"  Then  the  only  reward  of  his  fidelity  was  a  reprimand  ?  " 
said  Mrs  Gilderkin. 

"But  I  never  alluded  to  the  subject,"  said  Fogue.  "I 
thought  I  would  spare  his  feelings." 

"  Spare  his  feelings ! "  she  exclaimed  excitedly.  "  Peter," 
she  added,  turning  to  her  husband,  "  I  don't  think  Brother 
Thomas  gives  Sister  Jane's  boy  a  fair  chance.  I  propose 
that  we  have  the  other  one  go  with  us  to  Philadelphia. 
What  say  you  ?  " 

"I  am  willing  if  you  are,"  said  Gilderkin.  "If  he  is  like 
this  one,  I  am  not  afraid  but  I  can  stand  his  vulgar  ways. 
So  you  can  write  to  your  sister  Jane,  and  tell  her  that  — 
what  is  the  next  one's  name  ?  " 

"  Wirtimir,"  answered  his  wife. 

"  What  names  they  find  for  their  children  !  Tell  Jane  that 
if  she  will  let  Wirtimir  come  and  begin  with  me,  as  Theron 
did  with  Brother  Fogue,  he  may  come,  and  he  shall  live  with 
us." 

"  I  am  astonished  at  you,  Brother  GilderWn,"  said  Fogue, 
"that  you  should  take  a  country  boy  with  all  his  rough 
manners  and  vulgar  ways  into  your  house." 

"  He  can't  be  rougher  or  greener  than  I  was  at  his  age," 
said  Gilderkin. 

"Ah!  my  dear  sir,  with  all  your  sound  ideas  on  finance 
and  money-making,  you  have  no  proper  sense  of  the  dignity 
and  duties  of  your  position  and  class.  We  must  keep  dis- 
tinct from  those  below  us,  and  make  more  broad  and  clear 
the  line  between  us  who  have  inherited  wealth,  and  the 
vulgar  upstarts  who  have  made  their  own  money." 


274  G0MERY   OP  MONTGOMERY! 

"  I  think,  Brother  Fogue,  you  are  carrying  your  ideas  a  little 
too  far.  My  father,  you  know,  honest  man,  was  a  poor  farm- 
er; and,  until  I  was  eighteen  years  old,  I  worked  on  his  farm 
as  hard  as  any  drudge ;  but,  when  it  was  found  that  there 
was  a  valuable  coal-mine  on  his  land,  he  at  once  became  rich. 
I  have  heard  you  boast  frequently  that  your  father  was 
the  best  hand  at  an  oyster-stew  in  New  York.  So,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  our  lineage  is  neither  so  ancient  nor  honorable 
that  we  should  pride  ourselves  too  much  upon  it,  or  despise 
all  whose  fathers  did  not  accidentally  find  coal-mines  or  cook 
oysters." 

"  I  am  aware  we  have  not  the  advantage  of  a  long  and 
honorable  ancestry,  as  the  higher  classes  have  in  older  coun- 
tries ;  but  it  is  our  privilege  to  found  such  a  class,  and,  as  the 
first  in  the  line,  we  shall  have  the  more  honor  with  future 
generations.  If  we  were  to  trace  back  the  first  families  of 
England  a  sufficient  time,  we  should  doubtless  find  a  link 
where  the  head  of  it  was  no  better  than  an  oyster-dealer  or 
small  farmer;  and  yet  they  are  prouder  of  the  moss-trooper 
of  five  hundred  years  ago  than  of  his  descendant  of  the  last 
generation  who  was  a  lord  or  archbishop.  If  we  can  only 
lay  the  foundations  of  an  aristocracy,  we  need  have  no  fear 
of  not  being  respected  two  hundred  years  hence." 

"  Small  comfort  that  will  be  to  us.  However,  to  come  back 
to  the  subject,  I  am  disposed  to  make  a  trial  of  the  other 
Gomery  boy.   But  I  would  have  liked  to  have  seen  this  one." 

"I  shall  give  him  a  severe  talking  to  in  the  morning,"  said 
Fogue. 

"  Perhaps  he  was  looking  after  another  of  your  lame  cus- 
tomers," suggested  Sister  Gilderkin. 

The  next  morning,  as  threatened,  Theron  was  summoned 
again  to  the  rear  office  of  the  bank.  The  banker  looked 
stern  and  displeased,  and  did  not  ask  the  young  man  to  be 
seated.  Pushing  back  his  spectacles,  and  directing  a  look 
that  he  intended  should  make  him  tremble  before  him,  he 
began : — 

"  You  were  not  up  at  my  house  last  evening." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Theron  with  a  coolness  that 
somewhat  disconcerted  the  old  man. 

"  And  why,  sir,  did  you  not  come  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  go ;  and  that  was  reason  enough." 

"  But  I  wished  you  to ;  and  I  am  to  be  respected  in  my 
wishes." 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  275 

"  In  business-hours,  you  have  the  whole  of  my  time  and 
my  best  services ;  but  out  of  business-hours  I  am  my  own 
master,  and  go  where  I  please." 

"Young  man,  you  are  insolent!  You  shall  leave  the 
bank!" 

"  That  is  just  what  I  desire  to  do,"  replied  Theron  with 
an  air  of  indifference. 

"  But  you  shall  have  no  recommendation." 

"I  don't  want  any.  I  am  offered  a  thousand  dollars  a  year 
more  than  I  get  here,  besides  being  promoted,  in  the  bank 
opposite." 

"Leave  the  room!"  said  the  excited  Fogue,  getting  up 
from  his  chair  as  if  to  enforce  prompt  obedience.  Theron, 
however,  required  neither  force  nor  a  second  order,  but  with- 
drew quietly,  and  returned  to  his  desk. 

Here  was  insubordination  indeed!  The  lion  had  been 
bearded  in  his  den.  His  threats  had  been  flung  back  at  him 
with  defiance,  and  there  was  no  remedy.  The  young  clerk 
was  too  clever  for  the  conceited  capitalist.  The  old  man  paced 
the  room  for  a  short  time,  and  then  sat  down  again  at  his 
desk.  "That  is  just  the  way,"  said  he,  "whenever  genteel 
people  attempt  to  do  any  thing  for  their  vulgar  poor  rela- 
tions. But  they  are  not  my  relations,  thank  God !  There  is 
none  of  the  Fogue  blood  so  low  and  base  as  that ;  so  want- 
ing in  respect  for  rank,  position,  and  deference  to  the  higher 
classes.  Now,  we  can't  spare  the  boy  very  well ;  and  he 
would  not  think  of  leaving  if  he  had  any  sense  of  gratitude. 
I  took  him  in  here  when  he  knew  nothing  about  business ; 
and  now,  after  all  my  care,  he  is  going  off  when  we  have  no 
one  to  take  his  place.  What  depravity  !  And  yet  we  can't 
let  him  go.  All  the  board  will  want  to  know  the  reason. 
And  yet  I  know  he  will  go.  I  have  told  him  to  leave;  and 
go  he  will,  if  I  don't  call  him  back.  I  will  send  word  to  him 
by  Jenks.  Jenks  and  he  are  great  cronies.  I  will  tell  Jenks 
to  say  to  him,  if  he  will  make  an  apology  he  may  stay."  Af- 
ter reflecting  on  the  matter  for  about  half  an  hour,  he  rang 
the  bell  for  the  errand-boy ;  who  instantly  appearing,  he  bid 
him  tell  Jenks  that  he  wanted  to  see  him. 

Jenks  quickly  obeyed  the  summons ;  and  the  old  man,  con- 
trary to  his  custom,  bade  him  be  seated.     Then  sitting  back  in 
his  chair,  and  raising  his  spectacles  to  his  forehead,  he  began : — 
"  Mr.  Gomery,  my  nephew  (or  rather  my  wife's  nephew) 


276  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

has  used  very  improper  language  to  me,  and  I  have  told  him 
to  leave ;  but,  considering  his  former  good  conduct,  you 
may  say  to  him,  that  as  he  must  expect  to  make  his  way  in 
the  world,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  hard  upon  him,  and  his 
mother  will  take  it  unkindly  of  me  if  I  send  him  away,  he 
may  apologize  and  stay." 

"  That  will  be  quite  unnecessary,"  said  Jenks ;  "  for  he  has 
ready  sent  in  his  resignation,  and  you  will  find  it  in  the  let- 
ter-box in  the  front  office;  and  he  has  also  written  another 
letter,  to  the  President  of  the  Bank  of  Security,  saying  he  ac- 
cepts his  offer,  and  will  commence  at  the  first  of  the  next 
quarter." 

"  How  is  that  ?  How  did  the  Bank  of  Security  know  any 
thing  about  him  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  directors  of  the  Security  is  an  uncle  of  mine, 
and  one  day  met  Gomery  at  my  father's  house  ;  and,  getting 
into  talk* with  him  about  banks  and  exchange,  he  found  him 
so  well-informed  and  familiar  in  both  the  principles  and  de- 
tails of  banking,  that  he  invited  him  to  dine  at  his  house  a 
few  weeks  ago." 

"  Dine  at  his  house  !  A  clerk !  He  has  never  dined  at 
my  house,  for  all  he  is  my  wife's  nephew." 

"  He  dined  there  at  the  same  time  with  the  President  of 
the  Security ;  and  as  he  thinks  he  knows  more  about  bank- 
ing, and  national  wealth,  and  political  economy,  than  Say  or 
Adam  Smith  ever  dreamed  of,  he  soon  got  into  a  discussion 
with  my  uncle,  who,  finding  himself  getting  the  worst  of  it, 
called  on  young  Gomery  to  help  him  out ;  and  the  result  was, 
those  two  had  a  discussion  that  lasted  two  hours,  and  my  un- 
cle thought  the  old  man  got  the  worst  of  it.  When  they 
parted,  the  old  president  told  him  he  had  good  parts,  but  had 
much  to  learn.  Soon  after,  he  invited  him  to  his  house  ;  and 
now  he  verily  believes  that  Theron  Gomery  knows  more 
about  banking  than  any  man  in  America,  —  save  only  Nick 
Biddle  and  himself.  And,  what  is  more,  he  is  engaged  to  his 
daughter  Letitia ;  and  you  know  she  is  an  only  child,  and  is 
one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  New  York." 

"  "What !  Theron  Gomery  engaged  to  Letitia  Pickering ! " 
said  Fogue  in  amazement.  "Do  you  say  my  old  friend 
Stephen  Pickering,  the  President  of  the  Security,  gives  his 
consent  that  his  daughter  shall  marry  such  a  country  clown 
as  Theron  Gomery,  who  hasn't  a  dollar  in  the  world  ?  " 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  277 

"  He  consents  that  -she  shall  marry  Theron  Gomery,  and  is 
much  pleased  at  the  prospect." 

Fogue  dropped  his  head  at  this,  and  told  Jenks  to  leave. 
"Is  the  world  gone  mad?"  said  he.  "Theron  to  marry 
Letitia  Pickering !  Has  the  old  man  no  respect  for  his  posi- 
tion?—  none  for  his  class  ?  He  is  as  prone  as  I  am  to  a  priv- 
ileged class,  to  an  established  aristocracy ;  yet  he  allows 
my  wife's  nephew,  whom  I  do  not  permit  to  darken  my  door, 
and  who  has  never  yet,  and  never  shall,  cross  his  legs  under 
my  mahogany,  to  come  to  his  house,  and  marry  his  daughter, 
when  he  must  have  known  that  she  should  marry  Lester.  I 
wonder  what  Mrs.  Fogue  will  say  to  this.  It  was  all  her 
work,  bringing  the  country  bumpkin  into  the  city.  I  never 
approved  of  it.  And  as  for  Lester,  I  know  he  will  kill  him. 
He  has  great  spirit,  that  boy !  —  very  much  like  his  father. 
What  is  the  world  coming  to  ?  Surely  the  times  are  out  of 
joint."  And  with  such  reflections  the  capitalist  tried  to  re- 
sume his  labors. 

24 


278  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER    XXL 

"  It's  hardly  in  a  body's  power 
To  keep,  at  times,  frae  being  sour, 

To  see  how  things  are  shared ; 
How  best  o'  chiels  are  whiles  in  want, 
While  coofs  on  countless  thousands  rant, 

And  ken  na  how  to  wair't.  —  Burns. 

The  favorable  reports  received  at  the  Pivot,  of  the  good 
conduct  and  rapid  proficiency  of  the  eldest  son,  had  the 
effect  of  stimulating  a  desire  in  the  next  one  to  go  forth,  and 
try  his  fortune  in  the  great  world.  As  is  not  unfrequently 
the  case,  when  the  oldest  of  a  family  of  boys  enters  reso- 
lutely and  boldly  into  the  battle  of  life,  he  furnishes  the  best 
example  possible  for  those  who  are  to  come  after  him ;  and, 
if  there  be  no  radical  innate  difference  of  organization  and 
character,  in  all  probability  the  feeling  of  home  rivalry  that 
existed  among  them  as  boys  will  develop  in  them,  as  men, 
into  energy,  perseverance,  and  honorable  ambition.  In  start- 
ing off  from  home,  their  great  desire  is  that  those  they  leave 
behind  them  —  for  they  have  then  no  other  public  to  please 
—  will  hear  good  reports  of  their  conduct,  and  be  cheered 
by  news  of  their  success.  If  one  has  gone  before  them,  and 
good  reports  have  come  back  of  his  conduct  and  success, 
they  then  feel  that  they  have  a  standard  which  they  must  at 
least  equal,  if  not  excel,  and  that  any  thing  short  of  that 
will  cause  sorrow  and  disappointment  at  home.  But  if  the 
eldest  has  proved  a  thriftless,  graceless  idler,  the  next  one, 
when  he  ventures  away,  will  have  less  faith  in  himself,  less 
courage  to  undertake ;  his  standard  will  be  less  elevated,  his 
aim  lower ;  and  if  he  avoids  the  evil  ways  of  the  eldest,  and 
very  likely  pet  son,  so  that  relatively  he  is  the  better  con- 
ducted of  the  two,  he  rests  there,  and  aspires  to  nothing  bet- 
ter. The  eldest,  therefore,  has  a  great  responsibility;  for  the 
road  he  takes  will  most  likely  be  followed,  with  more  or  less 
deflections,  by  his  younger  brothers. 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  279 

Accordingly,  when  Wirtimir  saw  how  rejoiced  his  father 
and  mother  were  at  the  reports  which  came  to  them  of  The- 
ron's  good  conduct,  and  how  proud  his  sisters  Juliet  and 
Rose  were  of  his  success,  he  was  naturally  eager  to  distin- 
guish himself  in  the  same  way.  He  became  discontented  at 
home,  and  was  pressing  that  he  might  have  "  a  place "  in 
New  York.  When  told  of  the  severe  solitary  life  that  his 
brother  had  been  compelled  to  lead  for  the  first  year  and  a 
half  of  his  city  residence,  he  scouted  the  idea  that  he  would 
shrink  from  any  hardship  or  any  duty.  He  feared  nothing 
if  he  could  only  have  the  opportunity  to  learn  and  improve. 
The  days  seemed  long  to  him,  for  they  appeared  to  be  time 
wasted ;  and  his  native  hills  no  longer  had  any  charm  for  his 
discontented  eyes.  He  was  in  this  uneasy  frame  of  mind 
when  his  mother  received  a  letter  from  her  sister,  Mrs.  Gil- 
derkin,  proposing  that  he  should  go  and  live  with  her  family 
in  Philadelphia,  and  be  a  sort  of  clerk  to  her  husband,  look- 
ing after  his  affairs,  and  learn  the  ways  of  doing  business 
and  gaining  money.  An  invitation  was  also  given  to  his 
elder  sister,  Juliet,  to  accompany  him,  and  pass  the  winter 
in  the  city  of  brotherly  love. 

The  invitation  was  accepted  for  both;  and  as  the  journey 
was  a  long  one,  and  the  means  of  travel  very  different  from 
what  they  are  now,  it  was  finally  decided  that  the  old  squire 
should  accompany  them.  Preparations  for  the  journey  were 
immediately  commenced  ;  but  it  was  two  weeks  before  they 
were  ready  to  start.  The  old  family  carriage,  which  had 
been  built  in  the  village  according  to  the  lawyer's  own  de- 
sign, and  more  with  regard  to  convenience  and  comfort  than 
display,  was  sent  to  the  maker's  to  have  the  tire  reset,  to  be 
repainted  and  furbished  up  for  the  journey.  Within-doors, 
all  were  busy  in  making  ready  for  the  journey ;  and,  to  accel- 
erate the  work,  Miss  Wellington,  "  the  fashionable  tailor," 
was  brought  to  the  house  to  make  an  entire  new  suit  for  the 
lawyer,  and  such  clothes  as  it  was  supposed  Wirtimir  would 
wear  out  before  he  could  outgrow  them.  Juliet  and  Rose 
were  busy  in  making,  sorting,  and  packing  all  the  fine  things 
which  it  was  supposed  a  young  lady  would  require  in  a  great 
city. 

At  length,  all  was  prepared.  The  old  carriage  looked  as 
good  as  new ;  and  the  two  stout  horses,  that  brought  a  ready 
shoulder  to  draw  the  plough  or  take  the  family  to  church,  were 


280  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

round  and  fat ;  and  when  the  load  was  all  taken  on  board, 
and  the  good-by  said,  away  they  moved,  at  a  brisk  trot,  on 
their  long  journey. 

The  equipage  and  general  turn-out  of  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery on  this  occasion,  though  plain  and  unassuming,  gave 
evidence  of  more  substantial  wealth  than  was  often  seen  in 
the  family  carriages  of  the  people  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
Indeed,  to  the  eyes  of  the  common  folk  along  the  road,  it 
had  quite  an  ambitious  look  as  it  drove  along  past  their  quiet 
farm-houses.  The  old  squire  felt  happy,  and  so  did  Juliet 
and  Wirtimir  after  the  first  few  miles  had  been  passed  over, 
and  the  road  became  less  familiar  to  their  eyes.  At  first, 
they  could  not  refrain  from  casting  back  regretful,  sad,  and 
lingering  glances  on  the  now  receding  scenes  of  their  child- 
hood. During  the  journey,  they  met  with  few  incidents 
worthy  of  note.  They  put  up  at  the  best  of  the  good  old- 
fashioned  taverns  on  the  road  ;  and,  as  their  appearance  indi- 
cated them  to  be  people  of  a  better  position  than  ordinary 
travellers,  they  had  the  best  apartments  and  the  best  fare 
that  the  different  public-houses  could  afford.  But,  as  they 
approached  the  city,  they  observed  that  their  old-fashioned 
covered  wagon,  that  was  thought  a  very  stylish  affair  at 
Montgomery  Village,  was  but  a  sorry-looking  vehicle  as  com- 
pared with  the  splendid  carriages  that  rolled  by  them  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  city;  and  their  stout  old  farm-horses  cut  a 
dismal  figure  compared  with  the  prancing  roadsters  that 
proudly  dashed  by  them  along  the  finely  gravelled  turnpike. 

Very  near  the  city,  in  those  days,  there  was  a  public  water- 
ing-trough, which  was  fed  by  a  spring,  and  which  served  to 
water  the  thirsty  animals  of  both  teamsters  and  travellers. 
Here  the  lawyer  pulled  up  his  horses  to  refresh  them  for  the 
last  time  previous  to  entering  the  city.  At  a  little  distance 
from  the  trough,  engaged  in  the  healthful  exercise  of  throw- 
ing stones  at  the  windows  of  an  old,  uninhabited  house,  were 
a  couple  of  barefoot,  ragged,  dirty  urchins,  who  might  have 
been  taken  for  specimens  of  Young  America,  except  that 
that  interesting  and  hopeful  individual  was  not  then  in  exist- 
ence. "  I  say,  Bill,"  said  one  of  them :  "  ain't  that  a  he  old 
go-cart?" 

"  I  reckon  that  is  the  same  that  old  Peter  the  Headstrong 
used  to  ride  in,"  replied  the  other. 

"  You  old  fool  you !   that  was  made  before  old  Peter's 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  281 

grandfather  was  a  little  boy.  It's  the  same  wagon  old  Noah 
rid  down  the  mountain  after  the  ark  got  aground." 

"  That's  so !  And  that  is  old  Noah  himself.  I  say,  old 
man,  when  did  you  leave  the  ark  ?  and  how  was  all  the  folks? 
And  you  youngster  there  :  what  is  your  name?  Is  it  Shem, 
or  Ham,  or  Japhet  ?     It  ain't  Ham,  'cause  he  was  a  nigger." 

"  I  say,  old  Noah,  what  did  you  let  all  them  sarpents  into 
the  ark  for  ?  " 

"  I  'spect  that  is  Eve,  that  woman :  ain't  it,  Bill  ?  She  is 
handsome  enough." 

"  No :  you  ignorant  crittur  you !  Eve  wa'n't  Noah's  wife : 
she  wa'n't  in  the  ark." 

"  She  was  some  relation,  anyhow ;  and  how  do  you  know 
she  wa'n't  in  the  ark  ?  " 

The  horses,  having  drunk  their  fill,  were  turned  into  the 
road,  and  started  on  their  way ;  and  the  rest  of  this  discus- 
sion on  biblical  history  between  these  learned  pundits  was 
not  heard,  and  probably  is  lost  to  the  world. 

It  was  near  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  the 
quaint  family  carriage  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery  turned 
down  Wall  Street  from  Broadway,  and  stood  before  the 
Bank  of  Bullion.  The  lawyer,  giving  the  reins  to  Wirtimir, 
descended,  and,  entering  the  bank,  inquired  if  Mr.  Fogue 
was  in.  The  teller,  who  was  the  person  addressed,  seeing  a 
stranger  with  the  appearance  of  a  countryman,  replied, 
"  Yes,  sir ;  he  is  in :  but  it  is  past  his  hour  of  business,  and 
he  can  see  no  one.     He  is  busy." 

"  Busy,  is  he  ?  Well,  you  tell  him  that  Freeborn  Gomery 
is  here,  —  better  known  as  Gomery  of  Montgomery;  that 
his  daughter  is  with  him,  and  his  son :  tell  him  that,  sir,  if 
you  please,  and  be  very  quick  about  it ! " 

This,  uttered  in  a  loud  and  authoritative  tone,  caused  all 
the  other  clerks  to  look  up ;  and  the  teller  addressed,  turn- 
ing to  an  under  book-keeper,  bade  him  tell  the  president  that 
a  man  wanted  to  see  him. 

"  Tell  him  that  Freeborn  Gomery  wants  to  see  him.  And 
where  is  my  son  ?    Isn't  he  here,  —  my  boy  Theron  ?  " 

Here  the  clerks  began  to  titter,  all  except  Jenks,  who  ad- 
vanced, and  said  very  blandly,  "Ah!  Mr.  Gomery,  I  pre- 
sume. Happy  to  meet  you !  Your  son  left  here  a  few  days 
since,  anof  is  now  at  the  Security  Bank  opposite." 

"  Left  here !     How  is  that  ?  " 

24* 


282  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

The  door  into  the  rear  office  was  now  opened;  and  the 
president  advanced,  confused  and  embarrassed.  Here  had 
his  brother-in-law,  with  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  his 
Polly  Wellington  clothes,  all  well  covered  with  dust,  an- 
nounced himself  before  all  his  clerks ;  and  thus  was  he,  the 
founder  of  an  aristocracy,  confounded.  But,  putting  on  the 
best  face  he  could,  he  advanced,  and,  extending  his  hand, 
said,  "Indeed,  Mr.  Gomery!  I  hope  you  are  very  well! 
Walk  into  my  office." 

"  But  my  son  and  daughter  are  waiting  in  the  carriage." 

"  In  a  moment  we  will  attend  to  them,"  said  Fogue,  draw- 
ing his  brother-in-law  inside  the  door,  and  closing  it,  so  that 
the  clerks  should  not  be  witnesses  of  the  scene.  "  Take  a 
seat,  Mr.  Gomery !     I  hope  you  left  your  folks  all  well." 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  well,"  said  he  somewhat  sternly,  and  still 
standing ;  for  it  had  not  escaped  him  that  his  affectionate 
brother-in-law  secretly  wished  him  to  the  Devil. 

"  Well;  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  and  am  very  sorry  it 
has  happened  so  that  your  visit  is  at  such  a  very  unfortunate 
season.  You  see,  my  house  is  now  full  of  very  fashionable 
company,  —  the  son  and  daughter  of  a  friend  of  mine  in 
Georgia,  a  man  of  great  wealth,  and  connected  by  blood  or 
marriage  with  all  the  great  Southern  families,  and  descended 
from  the  old  Cavalier  stock  of  Virginia ;  and  —  I  say  it  with 
pride,  sir  —  the  ancestor  of  my  friend  was  killed  at  Mars- 
ton  Moor  by  some  of  Cromwell's  psalm-singing  Roundheads. 
His  son  and  daughter,  as  I  said,  are  at  my  house ;  and  we 
are  having  a  grea*t  deal  of  very  fashionable  company.  We 
even  expect  an  English  lord:  yes,  sir,  an  English  lord, — 
Lord  Noddlekin,  a  distinguished  member  of  the  great  aris- 
tocracy of  England,  who  arrived  in  the  last  packet.  Yes, 
sir,  we  expect  him  to  visit  our  house ;  and  of  course  you 
will  not  wish  to  be  there,  as  you  know  the  company  will  be 
so  different  from  what  you  have  up  at  Montgomery  Village. 
The  young  ladies  there  will  be  the  most  fashionable  in 
New  York;  and  several  of  the  old  Dutch  families  have 
promised  to  come  who  were  never  there  before,  in  order  to 
meet  Lord  Noddlekin ;  and  they  would  take  it  as  a  great 
offence  if  I  were  to  invite  any  common  folks  there  with 
them." 

While  Fogue  was  thus  excusing  himself  for  his  refusal 
of  hospitality  to  his  brother-in-law,  his  confusion  and  pride 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  283 

were  strangely  intermingled.  He  was  ashamed  of  his  boor- 
ishness,  but  could  not  conceal  his  exultation  when  speaking 
of  the  distinguished  visitors  expected  at  his  house.  His 
face  flushed,  first  with  shame,  and  then  with  pride ;  but  as 
Gomery  stood  unmoved,  with  a  perplexed  though  stern  look 
upon  him,  he  felt  he  must  propose  something,  and  so  said,  — 

"  But  we  have  excellent  hotels  here.  There  is  the  great 
City  Hotel,  where  all  the  great  people  go.  But,  as  it  is  very 
fashionable,  perhaps  you  would  prefer  the  Bleeker  Street, 
which  is  a  very  good  one,  and  a  great  many  respectable 
farmers  from  the  country  put  up  there  with  their  teams ;  and 
here,"  he  continued,  sitting  down  to  the  table,  "I  will  just 
write  a  note  for  you  to  take  to  the  landlord  to  tell  him  I 
will  pay  all  the  bills.    You  know,  I  want  to  be  hospitable." 

"  You  unmannered  hypocrite ! "  exclaimed  Gomery  of 
Montgomery  in  a  voice  that  could  be  heard  in  the  next 
room,  and  caused  the  clerks  to  hold  their  breaths,  "  do  you 
think  I  have  come  here  to  ask  charity  or  favor  from  you?" 

"  Hush !  hush !  not  so  loud ! "  said  Fogue,  looking  up, 
ashamed  and  supplicating;  afraid,  above  all  things,  of  having 
the  conversation  overheard. 

"Send  your  clam-diggers  and  oyster-spawn  to  Bleeker 
Street;  but  don't  insult  me  again  by  proposals  to  pay  my 
tavern-bills,  or  I  shall  throw  you  neck  and  heels  out  of  your 
own  window."  Fogue  sank  down  in  his  broad  arm-chair, 
looking  the  very  picture  of  cowardice  and  shame,  and  as  if  he 
feared  that  his  brother-in-law  would  put  his  threat  in  execu- 
tion. But  Gomery  only  looked  at  him  as  at  a  reptile  be- 
neath his  contempt,  and  then,  turning  on  his  heel,  walked 
out  with  an  elephantine  tread  that  made  the  building 
quake. 

The  clerks,  who  had  overheard  the  loud  and  angry  words  of 
Gomery,  had  also  from  the  window  caught  sight  of  Juliet 
sitting  in  the  carriage  in  front  of  the  bank.  The  outer  door 
of  the  bank  had  been  closed  just  as  Gomery  had  entered 
(the  hours  for  business  with  customers  closing  at  that  time)  ; 
and  the  clerks,  snuffing  some  fun  from  the  pompous  old  pres- 
ident, had  gathered  near  the  windows  that  looked  out  on 
the  street.  "  Look ! "  said  Jenks,  who  was  the  first  to  get  a 
sight  of  Juliet,  —  " look  !  isn't  that  a  beauty?  " 

"By  the  powers!"  said  another,  "is  that  Gomery's  sis- 
ter?" 


284  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY  I 

"  Of  course  it  is :  isn't  she  handsome  ?  " 

"  Handsome  ?  —  all  New  York  can't  touch  her.  See  !  the 
people  on  both  sides  of  the  street  are  stopping  to  look  at 
her." 

The  heavy  tread  of  the  elder  Gomery,  as  he  stalked  an- 
grily out,  interrupted  this  conversation. 

Juliet  and  Wirtimir  saw  a  thunder-cloud  on  their  father's 
brow  as  he  came  out,  such  as  they  had  never  seen  before. 

"Where  is  Theron?"  asked  Juliet. 

"Over  here,"  said  he,  crossing  over  to  the  other  side. 
"  Drive  over  here  to  this  side,  Wirtimir." 

The  boy  obeyed ;  and  the  old  man  entered  the  door  of  the 
Security  Bank,  which  was  not  yet  locked,  though  business 
hours  were  past.  He  had  no  sooner  approached  the  counter 
than  his  son  happened  to  cast  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  and 
instantly  recognized  him.  Eagerly  he  flew  through  the  gate- 
way that  cut  off  the  clerks'  apartment  from  the  public,  and 
grasped  the  old  man  by  the  hand. 

"  How  is  this  ? "  said  he.  "  I  wasn't  looking  for  you. 
How  is  mother  ?  how  Juliet  and  Rose  ?  and  how  Walter  and 
Wirt?  and  how  is  everybody?"  The  clerks  of  the  Security 
looked  up,  and  smiled  at  the  joyful  enthusiasm  of  Theron ; 
and,  just  at  this  moment,  President  Pickering  came  in  from 
his  private  office ;  when  the  young  man  proudly  turned  to 
him,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Pickering,  this  is  my  father ;  and  I  am 
so  glad  to  see  him ! " 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  president :  "  your  father !  I  am  delighted 
to  see  you,  sir.  I  have  known  your  son  only  a  short  time, 
and  I  am  proud  to  know  the  father  of  such  a  son." 

"  I  am  glad  that  the  boy  pleases  you,"  replied  Gomery, 
"  though  I  was  not  expecting  to  find  him  here."  Then,  turn- 
ing to  Theron,  he  told  him  that  Wirt  and  Juliet  were  in  the 
wagon  at  the  door. 

At  this  the  young  man  hurried  hatless  into  the  street ;  and 
such  a  hearty  greeting  passed  between  the  parties,  that  the 
people,  who  before  stopped  and  stared,  now  stared  and  won- 
dered. 

Fogue,  of  the  Bullion,  saw  this  scene  from  his  window, 
and  thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  got  rid  of  his  country  rel- 
atives so  easily,  notwithstanding  he  heard  his  clerks  giggling 
and  laughing  in  the  next  room,  and  was  well  aware  that  they 
were  witnesses  of  the  scene  in  the  street.    But  his  joy  was 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  285 

turned  into  astonishment  when  he  saw  his  much-respected 
friend  Pickering,  President  of  the  Security,  follow  his  clerk, 
bareheaded,  out  of  the  bank  to  the  rustic  old  family  carriage 
of  Gomery  of  Montgomery,  and  give  both  Juliet  and  Wirt 
a  warm  shake  of  the  hand.  Then,  agape,  he  saw  the  boy 
descend  from  the  carriage,  and  the  President  of  the  Security 
re-enter  the  bank,  and  soon  return,  with  hat  on  and  cane  in 
hand,  and  get  into  the  carriage  with  Gomery  and  his  daugh- 
ter, when  they  all  drove  away.  Theron  and  Wirtimir  en- 
tered the  bank,  but  returned  directly,  and  followed  the  car- 
riage on  foot. 

"  How  much  good  that  man  might  do,"  soliloquized  Fogue, 
"if  he  only  had  proper  social  ideas  !  With  his  fortune  and 
influence,  he  could  do  more  towards  forming  a  correct  public 
opinion,  and  establishing  the  necessary  distinctions  between 
classes,  than  any  man  in  New  York.  But  he  has  no  sense  of 
his  position  or  duty  to  his  class.  On  the  whole,  I  think  it  is 
as  well  for  Lester  to  marry  the  daughter  of  my  Georgia 
friend.  It  is  true,  she  is  not  very  handsome,  and  has  no  edu- 
cation; but  she  has  two  plantations,  and  belongs  to  one  of  the 
oldest  families.  If  Pickering  will  fraternize  with  such  low 
people,  we  must  let  him  go,  and  build  up  our  aristocracy  with- 
out him." 

Good  old  Jesse  Pickering,  who  was  thus  delinquent  in  his 
duties  to  his  class,  had  very  different  ideas  of  propriety  from 
his  neighbor  over  the  way.  His  early  days  had  been  differ- 
ent, and  with  his  mother's  milk  he  had  imbibed  other  ideas 
of  the  world.  Fogue,  as  we  have  heard  him  confess,  had 
come  up  from  a  labor  almost  menial ;  and,  as  his  wealth  came 
pouring  in  upon  him,  his  great  struggle  was  for  position. 
His  money  came  easier  and  faster  than  social  respect,  for 
refinement  was  not  natural  to  him ;  and  his  idea  of  the  value 
of  money  was  that  it  was  mainly  useful  as  a  means  of  main- 
taining social  distinctions.  Hence  he  grew  up  a  fawning 
sycophant  at  the  feet  of  those  having  social  standing  and  in- 
fluence, while  he  passed  with  haughty  indifference  those  who 
were  not  thus  favored.  And  yet  he  had  many  redeeming 
qualities.  Though  shrewd  and  sagacious  in  business,  he  was 
just  and  honorable  in  all  his  transactions.  He  was  public- 
spirited,  and  gave  liberally  to  public  charities.  His  heart 
was  liberal,  and  his  hand  was  free.  But  early  rebuffs  when 
seeking  position  had  burnt  into  his  very  nature ;  and  he  was 


286  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

like  too  many  people  of  like  experience,  who,  having  come 
up  from  the  dung-hill,  from  that  rich  soil  have  grown  rank 
and  lusty  in  wealth,  and  are  afraid  of  being  contaminated  by 
contact  with  people  once  their  equals.  Such  people  are 
always  talking  of  rank  and  position  in  society,  and  make 
their  attainment  the  great  end  of  life.  You  shall  know  a 
man,  and  more  especially  a  woman,  of  vulgar  antecedents 
and  connections,  by  their  proneness  to  talk  of  the  genteel 
people  and  great  folks  whom  they  have  known.  They  are 
so  fearful  of  being  confounded  with  their  own  kind,  that  they 
are  ever  reminding  you  of  their  distinguished  and  fashionable 
friends. 

On  the  other  hand,  Jesse  Pickering  had  no  fear  of  having 
his  position  mistaken  or  his  importance  undervalued  by  rea- 
son of  his  courteous  and  familiar  bearing  towards  all  men. 
His  early  years  had  been  spent  in  a  country  village  not  far 
from  New  York  ;  and  though  his  father  had  been  a  man  of 
small  fortune,  yet  the  family  was  as  much  respected  as  any 
in  the  place ;  and  in  his  boyhood  he  was  not  aware  that 
there  vyas  any  society  above  that  in  which  he  lived,  or  which 
he  looked  up  to  with  covetous  eyes.  Hence  he  never  knew 
the  bitterness  of  being  excluded  from  any  society  he  cared 
to  move  in.  He  had  come  to  New  York,  a  young  man,  to 
look  after  what  was  then  a  small  property  that  had  been  left 
to  him  at  the  decease  of  a  maiden  aunt.  This  consisted  of 
a  house  and  three  acres  of  land,  at  a  small  distance  from  the 
city  as  it  then  was,  and  which  he  hadr  the  sagacity  never  to 
sell.  Twenty  years  after,  the  same  property  had  increased  a 
hundred-fold ;  and  twenty  years  later  still,  which  was  about 
the  time  to  which  this  history  has  arrived,  he  ranked  as  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  the  city,  and  was  on  terms  of  intimacy 
and  familiarity  with  all  the  people  of  established  wealth,  in- 
cluding, of  course,  the  rich  descendants  of  the  web-footed 
Dutch  dames,  of  whom  the  historian  of  New  York  makes 
elegant  mention.  Being  thus  independent,  he  could  consult 
his  own  tastes,  and  could  afford  to  disregard  the  rules  of  so- 
ciety, by  having  such  intimates  and  visitors  as  he  liked,  with- 
out regard  to  their  wealth  or  social  position.  He  was  there- 
fore frank  and  familiar  with  the  poor  and  rich  alike ;  and  in 
this  he  was  the  exact  contrast  of  Fogue,  who  was  afraid  of 
being  contaminated,  or  classed  with  the  poor  and  vulgar,  if  he 
did  not  assume  a  bearing  of  haughty  superiority,  and  keep 
them  at  a  proper  distance. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  287 

For  the  two  days  and  a  half  that  Gomery  tarried  in  New 
York,  he  and  his  daughter  were  the  guests  of  Pickering. 
"Wirtimir,  however,  stopped  at  a  boarding-house,  lower  down 
town,  where  his  brother  lived.  Juliet  captivated  the  hearts 
of  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact ;  and  she  and  Fanny 
Pickering — now  engaged  to  her  brother  —  were  confidential 
friends  at  sight.  Gomery  of  Montgomery  occupied  his  time 
while  in  the  city  in  looking  at  its  wonders,  of  which  he  had 
read  much,  but  which  he  had  never  seen  before,  —  its  fine 
buildings,  large  wharves,  and  the  fleets  of  shipping  riding  at 
anchor  in  front  of  the  city.  The  President  of  the  Security 
put  his  carriage  and  driver  at  his  disposal ;  and  the  old  man 
in  his  broad-brim  and  Polly  Wellington  clothes  was  driven 
through  all  the  principal  streets  of  the  city ;  the  people  gen- 
erally taking  him  for  a  Western  governor  or  a  foreign  lord. 
Juliet  busied  herself  in  improving  her  wardrobe  for  the  win- 
ter campaign  in  Philadelphia ;  and  her  great  delight  was  in 
walking  up  and  down  Broadway  with  her  friend  Fanny,  to 
call  her  attention  to  what  was  most  worthy  of  notice,  re- 
ceiving hints  as  to  what  was  or  was  not  in  the  fashion,  and 
making  such  purchases  as  suited  the  wants  and  tastes  of  the 
two. 

But  the  lawyer  and  capitalist  could  not  agree  in  politics. 
Freeborn  Gomery  was,  as  we  have  seen,  a  man  inclined  to 
think  for  himself;  and  his  principles  were  based  on  his  own 
observations  and  reflections.  For  the  opinions  of  other  men 
he  cared  very  little,  though  he  cared  a  great  deal  for  the 
facts  and  data  on  which  they  were  founded ;  and,  when  pos- 
sessed of  them,  he  had  a  logic  of  his  own,  and  formed  his 
own  conclusions.  His  natural  sense  had  never  been  biassed 
by  prejudice,  or  warped  by  false  ideas ;  and  hence  he  took 
men  as  they  were,  and  valued  them  at  their  intrinsic  worth. 
If  he  met  with  native  wit  and  honesty,  it  mattered  little 
to  him  that  its  possessor  "  dined  on  homely  fare,  wore  hod- 
den gray,  and  a'  that."  In  politics,  he  was  a  radical  Demo- 
crat in  the  best  sense  of  the  term  ;  and  hence  he  could 
never  reconcile  it  with  his  system  of  logic,  that  it  was  just 
or  honest  to  keep  in  bondage  an  entire  people,  whose 
wrongs  were  increasing  with  their  numbers,  and  whose 
rights  it  was  growing  more  difficult  each  year  to  acknowl- 
edge. 

Pickering,  in  his  way,  was  as  just  and  liberal  as  Gomery. 


288  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

Indeed,  in  some  respects,  he  was  more  so.  But  his  experi- 
ence and  way  of  life  had  led  him  to  regard  the  masses  of 
mankind  as  of  importance  only  so  far  as  they  contributed  to 
the  aggregate  wealth  of  the  country.  The  public  happiness, 
and  general  education  and  improvement  of  the  masses,  were, 
in  his  eyes,  matters  of  trivial  importance,  compared  with 
that  regular  business  prosperity  which  allows  capital  to  roll 
on  like  a  snow-ball,  gradually  accumulating  all  the  damp 
flakes  that  have  fallen  on  the  ground  before  it.  And  he  was 
right  in  that,  perhaps ;  as  doubtless  the  people  will  elevate 
themselves  to  a  more  healthy  position  than  under  any  en- 
forced system  of  protection,  if  they  are  left  free  to  work  out 
their  own  improvement.  But  he  went  somewhat  farther 
than  this ;  and,  in  his  dread  of  innovation,  was  so  prone  to 
conservatism  as  to  oppose  needed  reforms.  But,  in  this  re- 
spect, he  was  far  more  liberal  than  Fogue,  who  regarded  it 
as  an  offence  against  society  and  order  for  any  one  to  seek, 
by  elevating  the  masses,  to  lessen  the  distinctions  between 
them  and  the  upper  classes.  Both  were  disciples  of  that  po- 
litical school  of  which  Hamilton  was  the  recognized  leader, 
and  looked  upon  the  ideas  of  natural  rights,  as  set  forth  by 
Jefferson,  Franklin,  and  Tom  Paine,  as  dangerous  heresies. 
Hence  the  conversations  that  passed  between  Gomery  and 
his  host  were  of  a  political  character;  and  so  intent  was 
each  on  convincing  the  other,  that  many  matters  were  neg- 
lected on  which  the  lawyer  was  especially  anxious  to  be  in- 
formed. On  some  subjects  the  banker  could  enlighten  him. 
But  many  of  these  were  not  introduced ;  and  all  his  time 
was  taken  up  on  abstruse  questions,  of  which  one  knew  no 
more  than  the  other,  and  both  were  resolved  to  be  neither 
enlightened  nor  convinced. 

Two  full  days  Gomery  had  allotted  himself  to  spend  in 
New  York ;  and  so,  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day  after 
his  arrival,  the  old-fashioned  team  was  brought  up  to  the 
door,  and  the  lawyer,  his  son  and  daughter,  took  their  seats, 
and,  with  a  hearty  "  God  speed  you,"  resumed  their  way. 

They  were  expected  at  their  Uncle  Peter's  in  Philadelphia, 
and  met  with  a  reception  more  cordial  than  they  had  antici- 
pated after  their  rebuff  from  their  New-York  relatives. 
Gomery  remained  there  two  days ;  and  then,  with  a  sorrow 
in  his  heart  at  parting  with  his  children  such  as  he  had 
never  felt  before,  he  commenced  his  journey  homewards. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  289 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

**  What's  a'  your  jargon  o'  your  schools. 
Your  Latin  names  for  horns  and  stools  ? 
If  honest  Nature  made  you  fools, 

What  sairs  your  grammars  ? 
Ye'd  better  ta'en  up  spades  and  shools, 

Or  knappin'  hammers. 

A  set  o»  dull,  conceited  hashes, 
Confuse  their  brains  in  college-classes ! 
They  gang  in  stirks,  and  come  out  asses, 

Plain  truth  to  speak ; 
An'  syne  they  think  to  climb  Parnassus 

By  dint  o'  Greek."— Burns. 

From  its  commencement,  the  village  of  Montgomery  had 
been  a  thriving  place.  It  had  been  fortunate  in  its  early  set- 
tlers; for,  as  was  said  long  since,  the  original  proprietor  of 
the  tract  where  it  stood,  Robert  Gomery,  had  been  very  par- 
ticular respecting  the  habits  and  character  of  those  who 
wished  to  buy  land,  and  settle  in  the  vicinity.  Beyond  most 
villages  of  its  time,  it  had  been  distinguished  for  the  sobriety 
of  its  inhabitants ;  and  only  under  the  potent  influence  of 
Joe  Pumpagin's  tongue,  and  the  more  potent  influence  of 
his  flip,  had  any  thing  like  a  drinking-bout  been  known. 
The  consequence  of  all  this  was  that  the  people  were  gener- 
ally in  prosperous  circumstances;  and  as  the  population 
waxed  numerous,  like  the  uneasy,  contriving,  innovating 
New-Englanders  generally,  they  got  an  idea  that  they  must 
have  something  better  than  the  ordinary  town-schools  for 
the  education  of  their  children.  Somehow  the  Yankees 
have  an  intuitive  sense  of  Bacon's  maxim,  that  "  knowledge 
is  power; "and  the  first  thing  they  think  of,  when  they  have 
set  want  at  a  distance,  is  to  give  their  children  a  better  edu- 
cation than  falls  to  the  lot  of  those  who  have  only  the  privi- 
leges of  the  free  schools.  The  parents  do  not  labor  to  accu- 
mulate property  for  their  children  to  inherit,  so  much  as  to 
employ  it  in  educating  them ;  believing  that  money  thus  ex- 
pended in  youth  will  bear  fruit  in  manhood  a  hundred-fold. 

25 


290  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY: 

Now,  the  good  people  of  Montgomery  Village  had,  like 
Freeborn  Gomery,  on  many  occasions  sent  their  children,  as 
they  got  somewhat  advanced  in  their  studies,  to  distant  acad- 
emies ;  and,  as  they  did  not  like  the  idea  of  thus  paying 
tribute  to  other  villages  of  less  population  and  importance 
than  their  own,  the  project  was  started  of  having  an  academy 
of  their  own.  It  was  not  till  about  the  time  that  Theron 
Gomery  left  his  home  to  begin  life  in  New  York,  that  the 
plan  of  an  academy  was  seriously  talked  of;  and  then, 
though  by  the  time  the  building  could  be  completed,  and 
the  institution  opened  for  pupils,  it  was  probable  that  Lawyer 
Gomery  would  not  have  left  at  home  more  than  one  of  his 
children  to  benefit  by  it,  he  nevertheless  entered  zealously 
into  the  scheme,  and  offered  to  give  the  ground  for  the  site, 
and  twice  as  much  as  any  man  in  the  village  besides.  This 
liberality  was  so  far  imitated  by  others,  that  the  money  neces- 
sary for  the  building  was  subscribed ;  and,  a  year  after,  it 
was  opened  in  due  form,  a  recent  college  graduate  accepting 
the  post  of  principal,  and  a  sentimental  lady  of  mature  years, 
who  taught  French  without  being  able  to  speak  or  read  it, 
and  who  could  tell  the  language  of  every  flower  and  plant 
from  a  violet  to  a  pine-tree,  was  engaged  as  assistant.  The 
academy  was  first  opened  on  a  bright  December  morning; 
and  among  those  who  attended  at  the  commencement  were 
Walter  Gomery  and  Obededom  and  Hester  Homer. 

It  had  been  the  intention  of  both  Freeborn  Gomery  and 
his  wife  to  give  Walter  a  college  education  if  he  should 
have  any  inclination  for  it  himself.  Accordingly,  as  he  was 
already  well  advanced  in  arithmetic,  English  grammar,  and 
geography,  he  now  began  to  study  Latin  and  Greek.  At 
school  he  was  the  favorite  of  all  save  one;  and  that  was 
Obededom  Homer.  Obededom  disliked  him  because  others 
liked  him ;  and  as  he  had  now  recovered  from  his  wound, 
and  was  a  large,  stout  boy,  with  a  deformed  leg,  he  gave 
vent  to  his  vicious  disposition,  and  sought  every  opportunity 
to  annoy  Walter.  However,  as  he  could  get  neither  coun- 
tenance nor  sympathy  at  school,  he  contented  himself  by 
ceaseless  efforts  to  annoy  his  much-forgiving  sister,  knowing 
that  she  had  a  childish  liking  for  Walter,  and  that,  when  he 
made  her  cry,  it  pained  him  a  thousand  times  more  than  if  he 
himself  were  the  direct  object  of  his  malice.  Somehow  these 
two  children,  more  by  force  of  circumstances  than  from  any 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  291 

other  cause,  came  to  have  such  mutual  confidence, that  they 
told  their  griefs  to  each  other  for  sympathy,  and  also  their 
hopes  and  pleasures,  that  each  might  share  the  other's  joy. 
As  children,  they  paired  like  young  birds ;  and,  as  they  got 
older,  they  regarded  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  they  were 
to  grow  up,  and  be  man  and  wife.  Mrs.  Gomery  saw  these 
evidences  of  youthful  attachment;  and  notwithstanding  the 
contempt  for  all  the  Homers,  from  the  great  bard  down  to 
young  Obededom,  which  she  expressed  the  morning  after  the 
great  ball,  she  had  it  not  in  her  heart,  so  gentle  and  innocent 
was  Hester,  to  interfere  with  the  developing  affection  of  the 
youthful  pair.  The  peculiar,  eccentric  character  of  Walter 
had  brought  out  in  her  a  finer  and  tenderer  feeling  than  she 
had  ever  known,  when,  a  young  mother,  she  proudly  scorned 
comparison  between  her  child  and  that  of  another  equally 
proud  and  hopeful  of  the  child  resting  in  her  bosom. 

As  Walter  grew  older,  his  character  seemed  to  harden,  and 
to  lose  somewhat  of  its  eccentricity.  With  such  precocious 
virtues,  it  might  reasonably  be  expected  of  him,  that,  like  the 
traditional  "good  little  boy  that  died,"  he  should  follow  his 
example,  and  be  laid  in  the  churchyard.  But  this  he  per- 
versely refused  to  do.  He  would  live  on  against  rule  and 
precedent;  and,  at  seventeen  years  of  age,  was  fitted  for  and 
entered  college,  a  healthy,  robust  lad. 

Some  would  say  that  he  had  more  bodily  than  mental 
health.  The  wisest  student  is  he  who  makes  the  most  of  his 
college  advantages,  and  who  begins  his  course  by  getting 
every  lesson  perfectly,  so  that  every  thing  once  passed  over 
he  will  have  ever  after  at  his  fingers'-ends.  This  plan,  though 
it  may  require  some  application  at  first,  will  enable  him  to 
complete  the  course  with  credit,  and  with  less  study  bestowed 
on  the  prescribed  lessons  than  if  he  begins  in  the  usual  way, 
and  only  gets  each  lesson  so  as  to  pass  for  the  day.  More- 
over, he  will  consequently  have  more  time  for  general  read- 
ing, and  will,  in  all  respects,  be  the  gainer.  Walter  Gomery 
had  this  idea  so  thoroughly  inculcated  by  his  excellent  father, 
that  he  acted  upon  it ;  and  hence  was  so  well  grounded  in  the 
rudiments  of  every  thing  he  studied,  that  the  class-lessons 
that  required  the  most  of  the  time  of  others  who  pursued  a 
different  course,  with  him  occupied  but  a  small  portion.  But 
he  was  regardless  of  rank,  and  not  always  respectful  to  the 
college  faculty.     In  fact  he  was  shockingly  unorthodox  in 


292  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

politics  and  religion;  and  he  read  very  extensively  those 
books  in  the  college  libraries  that  were  allowed  there  by  rea- 
son of  their  literary  merits,  though  the  students  were  warned 
not  to  open  them.  He  would  startle  his  classmates  by  the 
boldness  of  his  suggestions,  evincing  a  scope  of  thought  so 
far  beyond  them,  that  they  could  neither  controvert  nor  op- 
pose. Being  so  entirely  self-reliant  and  original,  he  was 
voted  an  oddity  by  the  students,  and  of  small  account :  and, 
though  some  of  the  more  venturesome  looked  to  him  for 
ideas,  it  was  with  fear  and  trembling  even  with  them  ;  for  it 
exposed  them  to  be  rated  by  the  college  faculty,  and  to  be 
suspected  by  the  implicit  students.  At  last  his  intrusion  of 
unauthorized  ideas  forced  matters  to  a  crisis.  The  professor 
of  the  ancient  languages  had  preached  a  famous  sermon, 
entitled  "  The  Fate  of  the  Ungodly,"  which  he  thought  so 
much  of,  that  he  had  got  it  published  :  and  this  sermon 
Walter  Gomery  made  the  text  for  a  theme,  which  he  most 
diplomatically  and  irreverently  termed  "  The  Attributes  of  the 
Two  Great  Powers,  the  Divine  and  the  Diabolical;  or,  Prof. 
Hoppin's  Theory  of  Grace."  In  this  audacious  attack  of  the 
stripling  upon  the  giant,  the  parts  of  the  sermon  reviewed 
were  those  in  which  the  learned  professor  had  proved,  to  his 
own  satisfaction,  the  great  scheme  of  creation,  sin,  and  re- 
demption, according  to  which,  if  logically  followed  out,  the 
great  multitude  of  mankind  were  fore-ordained,  from  the 
time  nihil  Jit  to  a  miserable  eternity,  for  not  believing  what 
their  reason  told  them  was  not  true.  He  proved  too,  with 
equal  clearness,  that  man  could  do  nothing  towards  averting 
so  awful  a  doom  ;  and  that  those  who  escaped  were  singled 
out  by  divine  mercy,  and  then  became  saints  upon  earth 
until  translated  to  another  world.  Then  the  professor  had 
dwelt  at  great  length  on  the  wickedness  of  being  governed 
in  matters  of  belief  by  reason,  and  proved  the  great  liability 
of  this  human  attribute  to  err.  They  must  believe,  not  what 
reason  said  was  true,  but  what  they,  the  saints,  told  them  to 
believe,  or  else  they  would  be  cut  off,  and  there  would  be  no 
hope.  Of  their  own  merits  they  could  expect  nothing  but 
damnation,  and  that  they  deserved  for  Adam's  transgression. 
But  if  they  accepted  all  these  ideas,  and  became  orthodox 
in  belief  and  faith,  they  then  might  hope  that  a  dispen- 
sation in  their  favor,  which  had  been  ordained  from  the  foun- 
dation of  the  world,  would   be  made  known  to  them,  and 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  293 

they  would  receive  from  the  Holy  Spirit  the  assurance  of 
their  redemption,  and  become  so  purified  and  changed,  that 
they  would  rejoice  to  behold  the  torture  of  those  whom  in  life 
it  was  their  duty  to  love  and  pity.  Ay,  so  great  would  be 
their  ecstasy  and  delight  in  beholding  the  misery  of  others, 
that  they  would  rejoice,  and  sing  praises  and  paeans  to  the 
author  of  it;  and  their  joy  would  be  as  great  as  was  that  of 
the  saints  of  old  at  witnessing  a  royal  auto-da-fe. 

Having  drawn  this  picture,  which  was  but  a  mild  para- 
phrase of  the  professor's  sermon,  Walter  charged  upon  the 
human  side  of  the  fortress,  and  asked  who,  without  denying 
every  attribute  of  his  humanity,  every  quality  that  is  rightly 
admired  in  men,  every  principle  and  duty  taught  by  Christ's 
words,  and  illustrated  in  his  life,  would  wish  to  share  such  a 
heaven  as  this?  For  his  part,  he  would  rather  take  his  lot 
with  the  Devil,  and  stand  his  chance  with  him  for  good  or 
evil ;  for,  with  all  their  abuse  and  high  coloring,  they  could 
not  make  him  out  so  bad  as  the  God  of  their  vengeance. 
"  Such  a  heaven,"  said  he,  "  if  there  be  such,  let  those  have  it 
that  can  enjoy  it,  but  not  me;  and,  if  I  never  get  to  it,  I  shall 
pity  those  that  do. 

'  I'm  wae  to  think  upon  yon  din, 
E'en  for  your  sake.' " 

This  daring  assault  on  the  lingual  professor  was  read  be- 
fore the  whole  class,  which  would  hardly  have  been  allowed 
had  he  himself  been  present.  But,  as  the  tutor  was  not  so 
high  in  authority  as  to  venture  to  stop  the  reading  of  it, 
Walter  was  allowed  to  read  it  through ;  some  of  the  stu- 
dents evincing  a  chuckling  satisfaction  at  the  well-put  thrusts 
through  the  mail  of  the  professor's  logic,  while  others  looked 
awe-struck  and  aghast  at  the  author's  temerity. 

After  being  read,  the  obnoxious  paper  was  given  with  oth- 
ers into  the  hands  of  the  tutor,  who  immediately  sent  it  to 
the  professor  with  an  excuse  for  allowing  it  to  be  read,  and 
recommending  that  most  prompt  measures  be  taken  to  pre- 
vent the  repetition  of  such  insubordinate  heresy.  A  perusal 
of  the  audacious  criticism  was  enough  to  set  the  professor  in 
a  towering  passion.  A  special  meeting  of  the  faculty  was 
called  for  that  very  evening ;  and  the  offended  professor,  hav- 
ing fortified  himself  with  a  substantial  repast  of  hot  biscuit, 
new  butter,  sponge-cake,  and  tea,  —  to  which,  before  setting 

25* 


294  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

out,  he  added  a  strong  glass  of  brandy  and  water, — he  ap- 
peared at  the  board,  like  Desdemona's  father,  "full  of  supper 
and  distempering  draughts,"  or,  like  the  Dutch  governor, 
"brimful  of  wrath  and  cabbage,"  and  opened  the  case 
with  so  violent  a  tirade  against  the  offending  Gomery,  as  to 
show  that  he  was  himself  a  very  proper  candidate  for  the 
heaven  he  had  depicted. 

The  obnoxious  theme  was  read ;  and  the  professor,  so  an- 
gry before,  was  even  more  astonished  when  he  found  he  was 
not  fully  sustained  by  his  brother  professors ;  and  the  presi- 
dent of  the  college  flatly  told  him  that  his  sermon,  though 
rhetorically  effective,  would  not  bear  criticism,  and  should 
not  have  been  published.  Though  the  students  ought  not  to 
criticise  their  teachers  publicly,  they  had  often  experienced 
the  fact,  that,  if  the  latter  would  lay  themselves  open,  the 
former  would  take  advantage  of  every  weak  and  exposed 
point.  The  professor  insisted  that  the  offender  should  be  ex- 
pelled. 

"  What  specific  charge  would  you  make  ?  "  suggested  Pro- 
fessor Pophara,  who  was  the  teacher  of  moral  and  mental 
philosophy,  and  somewhat  more  tolerant  of  dissent  than  his 
colleague,  Hoppin.  "  We  have  never  yet  expelled  any  stu- 
dent for  his  religious  opinions ;  and  we  have  always  said  we 
had  no  religious  test.  On  the  contrary,  we  have  had  avowed 
infidels  here,  who  have  graduated,  and  received  the  highest 
honors  ;  and  this  young  man  is  not  an  infidel." 

"He  is  a  great  deal  worse  than  an  infidel!  He  is  sapping 
the  very  foundation  of  all  evangelical  religion.  What  in- 
ducement is  there  for  being  religious  or  honest,  pray,  if  such 
ideas  are  to  prevail  ?  " 

"  We  will  not  discuss  the  merits  of  him  who  abstains  from 
sin  for  a  selfish  consideration,"  quietly  suggested  Popham : 
"but  I  don't  see  that  we  can  interfere  in  this  particular  case, 
unless  we  are  prepared  to  change  our  entire  policy,  and  avow 
that  we  will  receive  only  those  who  pass  a  satisfactory  exam- 
ination on  the  cardinal  points  of  religion ;  and  that  you 
know,  and  I  know,  would  soon  leave  the  college  without  stu- 
dents. Free  thought  is  the  right  and  habit  of  the  people  of 
this  country ;  and,  if  you  attempt  to  restrain  it,  the  students 
will  leave  us,  and  the  professors  will  become  the  derision  even 
of  those  of  our  own  persuasion,  and  can  be  of  no  use  or  im- 
portance in  the  world,  except  as  guide-posts  to  admonish 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  295 

others  not  to  follow  their  example.  Now,  though  I  am  some- 
times accused  of  Machiavellian  tact  and  policy,  I  must  say- 
that  we  have  no  case  against  this  young  man.  You  can  rea- 
son with  him,  Professor  Hoppin,  and  so  can  others  of  us  ;  and, 
having  done  so,  if  he  persists  in  his  errors,  we  cannot  pre- 
vent it.  JMaking  a  public  matter  of  the  thing  by  his  expul- 
sion would  only  draw  public  attention  to  it ;  and  we  must 
avoid  that.  Let  us  do  our  duty  in  kindness  and  charity,  and 
leave  the  event  to  a  higher  power;  and,  if  he  be  one  of 
those  whom  you  represent  in  this  sermon  as  cast  out,  his  fate 
be  upon  his  own  head,  not  ours." 

"  That  is  just  what  he  wants.  He  says  in  this  very  theme 
he  prefers  hell  to  heaven." 

"But  then  it  is  your  heaven  and  your  hell,  not  his,"  said 
the  president.  "  You  must  make  heaven  appear  more  at- 
tractive if  you  would  draw  men  towards  it." 

The  professor,  finding  himself  unsupported,  gave  up  the 
case  for  the  present,  and  consoled  himself  with  the  idea,  that, 
when  the  offending  student  came  before  him  in  recitations, 
he  would  confound  him  with  unanswerable  questions,  and 
give  him  no*marks  but  those  of  demerit. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  an  event  happened  that 
served  to  put  him  in  a  still  more  anomalous  position,  and  to 
render  his  college-life  any  thing  but  agreeable.  He  had  already 
seen  that  he  was  regarded  with  little  favor  by  the  faculty.  It 
somehow  had  leaked  out  that  Prof.  Hoppin  had  attempted  to 
have  him  expelled;  and,  though  the  other  members  of  the  fac- 
ulty had  not  sustained  him,  he  could  see  that  he  was  regarded 
as  a  wolf  in  the  fold.  Some  of  the  students,  however,  could 
not  but  admire  his  temerity;  and  he  was  rather  a  favorite 
than  otherwise  of  those  who  made  a  merit  of  defying  the 
rules  and  laws  of  the  college.  But,  soon  after  his  "mill"  with 
Prof.  Hoppin,  he  so  lost  the  good  will  of  this  class,  that  there 
was  not  a  student  in  the  college  willing  to  associate  with 
him ;  and  many  of  them  thought  they  were  doing  a  good 
service  by  smashing  his  windows  of  a  dark  night.  They 
thought  of  that  afterwards  with  different  feelings. 

In  all  our  American  colleges,  there  is  a  sort  of  class- 
honor,  as  there  is  among  our  "  Southern  brethren  "  a  sort  of 
bastard  honor,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  and  no  resem- 
blance to  legitimate  honor  and  integrity.  As  with  the  latter 
it  is  no  disgrace  to  swindle  a  tradesman  by  direct  lying,  and 


296  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

to  cheat  a  landlord  or  even  a  washer-woman  of  money  honest- 
ly, hardly  earned,  while  a  hint  that  such  acts  are  not  exactly 
honorable  is  an  offence  to  be  wiped  out  in  blood  ;  so  this  class- 
honor  exacts  of  students  collectively  some  things  that  indi- 
vidually would  be  accounted  mean  and  despicable.  The  class- 
honor,  however,  is  much  the  better  of  the  two;  and,  within 
proper  limits,  is  entirely  and  altogether  commendable.  It  is 
right  to  frown  upon  the  mean  spirits  that  would  curry  favor 
with  the  faculty  by  acting  the  spy  or  informer.  But  when, 
under  that  shield,  mean  and  contemptible  acts  are  perpetrated, 
and  injustice  and  wrong  committed,  it  is  cowardly  and  mean 
to  submit  to  such  tyranny,  and  bold  and  noble  to  face  it. 
Time  out  of  mind  it  has  been  thought  a  noble  and  dashing 
thing  among  students  to  cut  up  some  mischievous  prank  on 
unoffending  citizens ;  and  a  midnight  supper  on  chickens  or 
turkeys  stolen  from  the  poorest  people  is  too  often  thought 
an  orgy  to  boast  of.  It  was  with  this  system  of  college  ethics 
that  Walter  Gomery  came  in  collision,  and  in  this  wise :  — 

A  half-mile  or  more  from  the  college,  in  a  back  street,  lived 
several  families,  all  of  which  were  exceeding  poor,  and  almost 
entirely  depended  on  the  wages  of  the  husbands  and  fathers 
as  day-laborers ;  to  which  were  added,  in  some  instances,  the 
paltry  earnings  of  the  women  by  washing  for  the  students. 
But  as,  in  two  or  three  instances,  the  demon  of  intemperance 
had  entered  the  poor  habitations,  the  larger  part  of  the  earn- 
ings of  the  men  was  spent  for  strong  drink  ;  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  that  the  women  were  obliged  to  eke  out  a  meagre 
support  for  themselves  and  children  as  best  they  might  by 
cultivating  a  small  garden-patch,  raising  chickens,  ducks,  and 
turkeys,  and  going  out  by  the  day  to  wash  or  scrub,  or  per- 
form any  severe  in-door  drudgery  required  by  the  wealthier 
families  of  the  town.  It  so  chanced  that  this  year  the  scarlet- 
fever  had  prevailed  in  the  town,  and  in  this  particular  neigh- 
borhood scarce  a  child  had  escaped ;  and,  as  the  women  had 
necessarily  been  obliged  to  give  their  time  and  attention  to 
the  sick  at  home,  they  had  not  been  able  to  earn  any  thing  as 
usual  by  going  out  to  wash  and  scrub  for  their  richer  neigh- 
bors. And  now  winter  was  approaching,  and  the  prospect  was 
indeed  cheerless  for  these  poor  people.  Walter  Gomery,  who 
was  prone  to  solitude,  had  often  strayed  in  his  evening 
walks  in  this  direction,  and  had  sometimes  stopped  to  talk 
with  the  poor  women,  who  seemed  to  find  a  relief  in  telling  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  297 

their  sorrows.  They  had  the  old  and  weary  tale  of  the  drunk- 
ard's wife :  "  The  winter  was  coming  on,  and  their  husbands 
'were  not  saving  any  of  their  wages;  and,  during  the  sickness 
of  the  children,  every  thing  that  could  be  raised  had  gone  to 
pay  for  medicines,  and  such  food  as  the  sick  must  have,  or  die ; 
and  now  it  is  little  enough,  God  knows,  the  provision  they 
have  for  the  winter.  A  few  potatoes  and  cabbages,  a  patch  of 
turnips,  and  another  of  corn,  that,  in  its  season,  was  sadly  de- 
nuded of  its  roasting-ears  by  the  students,  and  a  stinted  pig, 
were  all  the  family  had  to  depend  on  to  eat  during  the  long, 
long  winter ;  and  the  chickens  and  turkeys  they  could  sell 
would  barely  afford  shoes  to  secure  the  many  feet  of  the  family 
from  the  snow;  and  the  children  had  no  warm  winter  clothes." 
And  with  this  recital  of  sorrow  the  poor  woman  would  usually 
break  down  in  a  gush  of  tears,  and  Walter  would  leave  a  sad- 
der if  not  a  wiser  man.  Sometimes  he  would  leave  a  trifle 
on  departing;  though  oftener  he  would  tell  a  market-man  to 
take  a  quarter  of  lamb  or  a  bushel  of  corn  to  them,  and  not 
tell  vj/io  sent  it. 

The  college-building  in  which  Walter's  room  was  situated 
was  occupied,  for  the  most  part,  by  the  members  of  his  class; 
and  the  occupants  of  the  room  opposite  proposed  to  several 
of  their  neighbors  to^ave  what  they  called  a  "blow-out," 
and  he  was  invited  to  participate.  He  at  first  declined;  but, 
when  pressed  to  join  by  the  additional  inducement  that  the 
chickens  were  to  be  procured  by  a  feat  of  daring  known  as 
robbing  hen-roosts,  he  consented  to  be  one  of  the  party  ;  and, 
when  all  had  assembled  preliminary  to  sallying  forth,  he  re- 
monstrated against  the  intended  robbery,  and  proposed  that 
the  chickens  should  be  honestly  bought  and  paid  for,  in  which 
case  he  would  stand  the  whole  cost.  To  this  course  the  others 
objected,  saying  "there  would  be  no  fun  in  it  in  that  way." 
One  student  said  lie  knew  of  a  place  not  far  off  where  there 
were  chickens  in  plenty,  and  he  had  found  where  they  roosted, 
and  offered  to  lead  the  Spartan  band  to  the  booty.  But,  when 
Walter  learned  whose  poultry  it  was  that  had  been  signalled 
out  for  the  feast,  he  denounced  the  contemplated  robbery ; 
and,  to  dissuade  his  companions  from  it,  he  related  with 
warmth  what  he  knew  of  the  poverty  and  affliction  of  the  peo- 
ple who  would  be  the  sufferers,  and  said  the  thing  should  not 
be  done. 

"  It  will  be  done  in  spite  of  you,"  said  Horton,  an  influen- 


298  GOMERY   OF  MONTGOMERY  I 

tial  member  of  the  class.  "We  are  not  to  be  balked  by  any 
of  your  squeamish  notions." 

"  Squeamish  or  not,  I  say  that  to  rob  those  poor  people 
would  be  an  unspeakable  meanness ;  and,  regardless  of  re- 
sults, I  will  denounce  the  perpetrators  of  it  to  the  faculty." 

"  You  will  bully  us,  then,  will  you,  Mr.  Tell-tale  ?  "  said  Hor- 
ton ;  and  others  cried  out  that  he  dared  not  do  it,  or,  if  he  did, 
"he  should  never  know  another  day's  peace  in  that  col- 
lege." 

"  I  know  the  consequences,"  said  he,  turning,  and  leaving 
the  room. 

Soon  after,  he  heard  them  all  go  out,  and  in  about  an  hour 
return ;  and,  from  the  noise  kept  up  till  nearly  dawn,  he  had 
no  doubt  that  the  hen-roost  had  suffered. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  opened  his  door,  he  saw  be- 
fore it  some  chickens'  and  turkeys'  legs,  heads,  and  feathers, 
that  had  evidently  been  left  there  by  the  roysterers  as  a  defi- 
ance for  him  to  carry  his  threat  into  '  execution  if  he  dared. 
But,  as  he  was  up  a  good  hour  before  the  first  morning  bell, 
he  thought  he  would  walk  down  to  the  place  where  he  sus- 
pected the  robbery  had  been  committed.  As  he  approached 
the  house,  he  saw  several  of  the  neighbors  standing  about  the 
door,  from  which  he  suspected  that  tlfey  had  come  to  condole 
with  the  family  for  the  loss  of  their  chickens.  But  not  so. 
As  he  approached  the  house,  he  observed  on  the  faces  of  all 
an  expression  of  sorrow,  but  none  of  indignation.  A  visitor, 
more  unwelcome  than  any  he  had  suspected,  had  been  there. 
The  death-angel  had  passed  during  the  night,  and  borne 
away  one  of  the  sick  children;  and  under  that  load  of  grief 
no  one  had  discovered  the  robbery.  Walter  said  nothing  of 
it,  but,  placing  a  five-dollar  bill  in  the  hands  of  the  afflicted 
woman,  left  without  revealing  the  business  that  had  taken 
him  there. 

During  the  morning,  he  wrote  a  note  to  the  president, 
saying  that  certain  students,  members  of  his  class,  whose 
names  he  gave,  had  been  engaged  in  robbing  the  hen-roost  of 
a  poor  family  the  night  before,  and  that  he  might  be  given  as 
authority  for  the  charge. 

Such  a  letter  was  without  a  precedent  in  that  seat  of  learn- 
ing. What  to  think  of  it  the  good  old  president  did  not 
know.  He  could  hardly  ascribe  it  to  a  high  conscientious- 
ness ;  for  Gomery  was  notoriously  a  free-thinker,  and,  as  Hop  - 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  299 

pin  said,  worse  than  an  infidel.  While  pondering  over  the 
grave  accusation  of  so  many  students  by  one  of  their  own 
class,  he  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Prof.  Hoppin, 
to  whom  he  showed  the  letter. 

"  Grave  charges,"  said  he,  reading  over  the  names.  "  We 
must  take  serious  action  on  this  business.  They  must  be 
suspended  at  least,  and  the  ringleaders  expelled."  But,  just 
as  the  word  "  expelled  "  fell  from  his  lips,  his  eyes  rested  on  the 
name  of  Gomery.  "  What !  Gomery  (Gomery  of  Montgom- 
ery, as  they  call  him)  making  such  charges  against  some  of 
our  best  students,  and  those  who  abhor  his  abominable  doc- 
trines? Of  course,  we  can  take  no  notice  of  charges  from  such 
a  source." 

"  But  suppose  they  are  true,"  mildly  suggested  the  presi- 
dent :  "  their  nature  is  not  changed  by  the  character  of  the 
complainant." 

"I  think  we  shall  not  only  encourage  a  mean  spirit  of 
treachery,  but  shall  also  be  lending  our  approbation  and 
countenance  to  a  young  man  who  is  a  perfect  snake,  and  is 
capable  of  doing  more  mischief  than  all  the  infidels  and  row- 
dies we  have  had  in  the  college  for  the  last  ten  years.  You 
have  asked  my  opinion,  and  I  am  free  to  give  it :  take  no  no- 
tice of  the  letter,  and  I  will  take  it  on  myself  that  the  students 
shall  all  know  what  a  vile  character  is  among  them.  We 
can,  by  judicious  treatment  of  the  subject,  impress  the  great 
moral  truth,  that  false  ideas  and  false  doctrines  inevitably 
lead  to  vice  and  crime." 

"But  not  to  stealing  chickens,"  meekly  interposed  the 
president. 

Hoppin  left  the  room  both  pleased  and  angry,  —  pleased 
that  Gomery  had  committed  himself  so  against  college  honor, 
for  his  influence  would  thenceforth  be  gone  ;  and  angry  at 
the  mild  rebuke  administered  to  him  by  the  president. 

A  few  minutes  after  the  departure  of  Hoppin,  Popham, 
the  professor  of  mental  and  moral  philosophy,  entered.  He 
was  a  man  very  different  from  Hoppin,  of  less  zeal,  and  more 
discretion.  Hoppin  was  dogmatic  and  overbearing,  and  had 
the  true  spirit  of  an  inquisitor ;  while  Popham  was  all  gentle- 
ness and  persuasion,  uniting  Machiavellian  wisdom  with  the 
most  indulgent  charity  and  benevolence.  To  him  the  per- 
plexed president  gave  the  letter  of  Gomery ;  and,  when  he 
had  read  it,  he  related  what  had  transpired  between  him 
and  Dr.  Hoppin. 


300  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

"  It  would  be  well  to  investigate  the  matter  somewhat  be- 
fore making  any  disturbance  about  it,"  said  Prof.  Popham. 
"  Leave  it  to  me,  and  I  will  find  out  the  merits  of  the  case. 
There  must  be  some  cause,  founded  in  spite  or  pride  or  per- 
sonal dislike,  for  such  a  singular  accusation  as  this.  I  will  see 
Gomery,  and  I  can  probably  ascertain  what  has  prompted  him." 
He  went  out,  and,  returning  to  his  own  room  or  study,  sent  for 
Gomery,  who  promptly  obeyed  the  summons,  but  refused  to 
give  a  word  more  of  information  than  was  contained  in  the  let- 
ter. The  good-natured  professor  then  thought  he  would  visit 
the  scene  of  the  depredation,  and  learn  what  he  could  of  the 
robbery  from  the  victims  of  it.*  He  was  not  sure  which  of 
the  poor  families  of  Poverty  Lane,  as  it  was  called,  had 
been  robbed ;  but,  as  he  had  heard  of  the  death  of  a  child  in 
one  of  them,  he  thought  he  would  visit  that  house,  and  offer 
such  condolence  and  consolation  as  he  thought  might  be 
timely  and  appropriate,  and  perhaps  he  might  meet  with  some 
one  who  would  inform  him  of  the  raid  on  the  hen-roosts  the 
night  before. 

It  was  nothing  unusual  to  see  Prof.  Popham  strolling  down 
Poverty  Lane.  His  benevolence  had  been  experienced  in 
that  neighborhood  often  before ;  and,  as  he  now  entered  the 
house  of  mourning,  no  one  suspected  him  of  a  double  object, — 
of  administering  Christian  consolation,  and  inquiring  about 
their  hen-roosts.  Such  incongruous  purposes,  nevertheless, 
were  in  the  good,  benevolent,  worldly-wise  man's  mind.  The 
poor  woman,  whose  child  —  a  little  girl  of  seven — lay  a  corpse 
in  the  room,  was  in  deep  grief.  She  listened,  as  it  were,  with 
passive  indifference  to  the  words  of  the  good  man  when  he 
told  her  of  the  future  and  better  world.  No  hopes  of  the 
future  could  divert  the  mind  of  the  mother  from  the  dread- 
ful present :  the  thought  that  her  pretty  flaxen-headed  Kitty 
was  dead,  and  must  to-morrow  be  laid  away  in  the  grave,  was 
too  overpowering  to  admit  of  consolation.  The  good  man 
saw  this,  and  saw  that  grief  must  first  have  way,  and  that  it 
was  not  yet  time  to  offer  the  consolations  of  religious  hope. 
He  therefore  abstained  from  further  remarks  of  that  kind,  and 
with  great  delicacy  said  that  this  bereavement  must  subject 
them  to  expenses  that  they  were  not  prepared  to  meet,  and 
offered  to  provide  any  thing  required.  "  Will  you  not,"  asked 
he,  "  find  it  difficult  to  provide  the  graveclothes  and  coffin 
for  your  little  girl's  funeral  ?  " 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  301 

"Oh !  you  are  so  kind  to  us  poor  people  always,  Mr.  Popham: 
but  there  was  another  good  Christian  here  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, one  of  the  students ;  and  he  left  five  dollars,  which  will 
pay  for  the  graveclothes.  David  Chenery  has  promised  to 
make  the  coffin  for  nothing  for  poor  little  Kitty  ;  and  so  the 
five  dollars  will  pay  for  all,  and  make  up  for  the  chickens  that 
some  bad  boys  stole  last  night.  While  Kitty  was  dying,  they 
came  and  stole  my  chickens  and  turkeys." 

"  What  !  stole  your  chickens  last  night  ?  " 

"Yes:  they  stole  all  the  best  of  them,  and  my  biggest,  fat- 
test turkey ;  and  I  was  expecting  to  sell  them  to  buy  shoes  for 
George  and  Richard  and  Kitty  for  winter.  But  now  Kitty  is 
dead,  and  she  will  never  want  any  shoes  again."  And  here 
the  poor  woman  broke  down  with  crying,  and  sobbed  aloud. 

After  waiting  for  her  to  compose  herself  somewhat,  the 
professor  asked,  "Do  you  think  any  students  took  your 
chickens  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  they  did." 

"  Do  you  think  that  one  had  a  hand  in  it  who  gave  you 
the  money  this  morning?  Perhaps  he  thought  he  would  pay 
you  for  them  after  having  taken  them." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir !  it  was  not  him :  he  is  such  a  good  young  man ! 
He  has  been  very  kind  to  us  before." 

"  Do  you  know  his  name  ?  " 

"  It  is  Montgomery,  or  Gomery,  or  some  such  name." 

"  Ah,  ha! "  soliloquized  the  professor :  "  this  is  a  phase  of 
student  character  I  have  never  seen  before  in  my  thirty-three 
years  of  experience  as  a  teacher."  He  put  the  same  amount 
into  the  woman's  hand  as  had  Gomery  in  the  morning,  and 
returned  home  "  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man." 

The  next  day  he  sent  for  one  of  the  students  who  had 
participated  in  the  stolen  feast,  telling  him  he  was  very 
sorry  to  learn  that  certain  students  had  been  engaged  in  a 
very  disreputable  transaction,  —  one  of  the  very  meanest  of 
all  acts,  —  the  robbing  of  a  poor  woman  of  her  chickens,  and 
at  a  time  when  she  had  a  sick  child  dying  in  her  house. 

"A  child  dying ! "  faintly  exclaimed  the  student,  turning 
pale,  and  then  nerving  himself  for  the  assault  that  was  sure 
to  follow. 

"  Do  you  know  any  who  were  of  the  party  ?  "  asked  Pop- 
ham  with  assumed  indifference. 

"No!"  said  the  student  indignantly;  "and,  if  I  did,  do 

26 


302  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

you  think  I  am  so  mean,  so  destitute  of  honor,  that  I  would 
tell  of  it?" 

The  professor  had  not  intended  that  the  youth  should 
commit  himself  in  a  falsehood ;  but,  now  that  he  had  done  so, 
he  was  willing  he  should  take  the  consequences.  He  ques- 
tioned him  so  closely  as  to  his  whereabouts  on  the  night  in 
question,  as  to  make  him  feel  that  his  lie  was  discovered,  and 
then  dismissed  him.  After  leaving  the  professor's  room,  the 
convicted  poacher  met  another  of  the  robbing  fraternity,  and 
related  What  had  passed  between  him  and  "  Old  Popham," 
and  warned  him  to  be  on  his  guard ;  "  for,"  said  he,  "  we 
must  all  tell  the  same  story,  or  refuse  to  answer  any  thing, 
and  then  they  can't  prove  any  thing."  Directly  a  meeting  of 
the  party  was  held,  and  a  course  of  policy  determined  upon 
by  which  to  prevent  contradictions  and  defeat  proof.  It  was 
ominous  to  them  when  they  met  again  that  evening  at  a  late 
hour,  and  learned  that  every  one  who  had  shared  the  feast, 
and  none  others,  had  been  summoned  to  the  professor's  room. 

The  next  day  they  were  all  called  before  the  president, 
Profs.  Popham,  Hoppin,  and  the  rest  of  the  faculty.  They 
were  politely  requested  to  be  seated  ;  and,  soon  after,  Gom- 
ery  of  Montgomery  entered.  They  saw  at  once  that  denial 
or  evasion  would  be  useless,  and  were  ready  to  confess  every 
thing.  But  "  Old  Pop  "  was  not  now  disposed  to  allow  them 
the  benefit  of  a  plea  of  "  Guilty." 

Taking  up  a  letter,  he  handed  it  to  Gomery,  and  asked, 
"Did  you  write  that?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  have  done  a  very  wicked  thing,  then.  You  have 
wrongly  accused  all  these  young  men ;  for  they  all  deny 
having  had  any  hand  or  part  in  this  very  low  and  dishonora- 
ble transaction." 

"  We  did  not  suppose  we  had  a  sneaking  traitor  and  in- 
former among  us,"  said  one,  more  angry  than  discreet. 

"  Traitor  and  informer !  "  said  Walter.  "  Traitor !  Did  I 
betray  you?  Did  I  not  warn  you  that  the  act  was  wrong? 
Did  I  not  refuse  to  be  one  of  your  party  so  soon  as  I  found 
it  was  your  purpose  to  rob  a  poor  family  of  what  was  of  so 
much  importance  to  them,  and  could  afford  so  little  pleasure 
to  you?  And  did  I  not  offer  to  send  out,  buy,  and  pay  for 
every  thing  you  might  want,  and  then  warn  you,  if  you  per- 
sisted, I  should  denounce  you?     Could  I  know  of  your  con- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  303 

duct,  and  be  silent,  without  sharing  your  guilt  ?  I  have  only- 
done  as  I  said  I  would,  and  I  have  no  more  to  say.  If  your 
act  is  defensible,  defend  it ;  but  don't  think  to  skulk  behind 
my  unpopularity  to  save  yourselves.  What !  keep  me  silent 
over  such  an  act  as  this  ?  Make  me  wink  at  such  a  meanness? 
(for  I  will  not  dignify  it  by  calling  it  a  crime.")  With  this 
burst  of  indignation,  he  arose,  and  left  the  room. 

The  students  denied  nothing  more.  Hoppin  sought  to 
palliate  their  conduct  by  telling  them  to  be  cautious,  and 
avoid  the  society  of  young  men  who  had  neither  evangelical 
religion  nor  a  proper  sense  of  honor.  But  the  students  were 
all  sharply  reprimanded  by  the  president.  Each  one  was 
required  to  make  a  written  confession ;  and  each  was  to  go 
to  the  house  of  the  poor  woman,  and  leave  with  her  a  sum 
of  money  equal  to  the  entire  value  of  the  purloined  poultry. 
This  was  the  penalty  imposed  ;  and  the  alternative  of  refusal 
was  to  be  immediate  and  unconditional  expulsion.  To  these 
conditions  they  all  promised  to  submit,  when  they  were  al- 
lowed to  withdraw. 

"  I  trust,"  said  Hoppin,  after  the  door  was  closed,  "  that 
those  who  have  exercised  this  severity  are  prepared  to  bear 
the  responsibility  of  their  acts." 

"  What  less  could  we  do,  if  we  would  maintain  any  disci- 
pline in  the  college?"  replied  Popham. 

"I  don't  object  to  the  punishment  in  itself;  but  I  do  object 
to  giving  any  heed  or  respect  to  such  a  cast-away  as 
Gomery." 

"  But  the  others  confessed." 

"  That  does  not  matter.  By  sustaining  him,  we  aim  a  blow 
at  vital,  evangelical  religion." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  we  aim  a  blow  at  chicken-steal- 
ing, and  knavery  in  general." 

The  matter  was  here  allowed  to  drop  by  the  faculty,  but 
not  so  by  the  students.  The  affair  was  bruited  through  the 
college ;  and  the  version  given  of  it  by  the  six,  and  by  the 
amiable  Hoppin,  was  such  as  to  set  the  whole  current  of 
public  sentiment  of  the  college  against  Gomery.  He  knew 
that  he  was  suffering  injustice  at  their  hands,  but  took  no 
pains  to  correct  the  misapprehension.  If  he  heard  cat-calls 
near  his  room,  or  was  startled  by  a  brick-bat  crashing  his 
window,  he  made  no  complaint,  —  not  even  allowing  the 
damages  to  be  repaired,  as  is  usual,  at  the  common  cost  of 


304  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

the  students,  but  paying  for  all  out  of  his  own  pocket.  "It 
will  be  all  right,"  said  he  to  himself,  "some  day;  and  it  is 
not  for  me  to  doubt  that  final  justice  will  be  done.  There  is 
a  God  in  the  earth." 

Popham  knew  of  this  injustice  and  wrong  that  Gomery 
was  receiving  from  the  hands  of  his  fellow-students,  and  he 
might  easily  have  stopped  it.  But  Popham  always  went 
abroad  in  silver  slippers,  even  on  errands  of  mercy ;  and  the 
slippers  would  have  been  tarnished  by  following  the  path  of 
Walter  Gomery. 

In  time,  however,  the  persecution  on  account  of  this  act 
abated ;  and,  as  his  character  became  better  understood,  he 
grew  into  favor,  and  was  thought  to  be,  though  radical  and 
erratic,  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  college ;  though  some 
insisted  that  his  adherence  to  his  own  sense  of  right,  in  defi- 
ance of  the  established  laws  of  college-honor,  was  a  dark 
blot  on  his  character.  But  thus  he  had  been  constituted  by 
his  Creator.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  to  see  glory,  except 
hand  in  hand  with  duty ;  and  it  would  seem,  from  some  of 
the  ideas  and  opinions  advanced  by  him,  that  he  would  not 
shrink  from  infamy  if  he  could  see  in  it  the  way  to  others' 
good.  To  be  infamous  before  the  world,  and  know  that  in- 
famy must  follow  him  through  life  and  after  death  !  And 
for  what?  To  benefit  those  who  will  stigmatize  his  name, 
and  teach  their  children  to  abhor  it.     What  a  character ! 

But  in  time  his  position,  opinions,  and  his  boldness  in 
avowing  them,  commanded  so  much  respect,  that,  before  he 
graduated,  he  grew  into  more  influence  than  any  other  stu- 
dent. His  audacity  in  attacking  opinions  and  ideas  that 
were  so  generally  received  as  never  to  be  questioned  by 
others  caused  some  of  the  more  timid  and  worshipful  to  fear 
him  as  no  better  than  he  should  be.  But  his  good  nature 
and  his  unselfish  disposition  won  upon  the  hearts  of  even 
these;  and  in  charity  they  ascribed  his  radical  eccentric  ideas 
to  a  sort  of  mental  deformity. 

Though  his  peculiar  opinions  were  hard  to  combat,  yet 
they  were  so  at  variance  with  the  popular  and  received  ideas 
of  the  time,  that  it  was  unwise  for  him  to  advance  them. 
He  could  do  little  good  to  others  by  it,  but  did  himself  much 
harm.  Yet  it  was  in  him  to  oppose  error,  or  what  seemed 
to  him  error;  and  he  could  not  allow  it  to  pass  unchal- 
lenged, because  to  expose  or  assail  it  would  expose  him  to 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  305 

obloquy.  Hence,  during  the  last  year  of  his  college  course, 
during  which  he  had  much  leisure,  he  set  his  fellow-students 
by  the  ears  by  throwing  among  them  apples  of  discord  in 
the  shape  of  startling  propositions;  so  that  the  professors 
were  far  more  liable  to  overhear  the  students  criticising,  rather 
than  extolling,  the  doctrines  taught  them.  The  professors 
wished  him  away;  for  they  regarded  his  influence  as  noxious 
and  innovating.  But  he  remained  to  graduate,  and  left  the 
college  with  few  honors,  and  on  the  part  of  the  faculty  with 
no  regrets,  except  that  he  had  ever  been  one  of  its  students. 
They  did  not  consider  it  creditable  to  the  college  that  a 
young  man  should  leave  its  walls,  after  a  four-years'  course, 
with  such  capacity  to  do  harm  as  he  had  shown  in  getting  his 
dangerous  opinions  diffused  all  through  the  college.  That 
he  had  helped  several  poor  students  over  their  term-bills  was 
not  known  till  after  he  had  graduated ;  nor  was  it  suspected 
that  his  rigid  economy  was  practical,  that  he  might  save  from 
his  own  liberal  allowance  a  sum  to  enable  others  to  complete 
the  course. 

After  leaving  the  college,  Walter  returned  to  his  old 
home  at  the  Pivot,  and  commenced  reading  the  elementary 
books  on  law  in  his  father's  office.  He  was  inclined  to  re- 
main at  home  rather  than  enter  an  office  in  a  large  city ;  for 
the  reason  that  Hester  Homer,  now  grown  to  a  beautiful  girl 
of  sixteen,  was  in  the  neighborhood.  During  his  college 
course,  he  had  frequently  written  to  her,  and  had  induced 
her,  after  much  persuasion,  to  answer  his  letters.  At  first 
they  were  timid,  reserved,  and  childish ;  but  in  time  she 
learned  to  write  more  freely,  and  to  tell  him  of  things  he 
cared  to  know.  He  would  ask  her  to  write  of  the  most 
every-day  occurrences,  the  events  of  the  village,  and  the  lit- 
tle incidents  of  her  own  quiet,  humble  life.  With  this  in- 
ducement, and  with  such  a  friend  to  counsel  her,  and  advise 
her  of  her  errors  in  orthography  or  expression,  she  soon 
found  it  an  easy  task  to  fill  whole  pages,  even  when,  on  sit- 
ting down  to  write,  she  felt  that  she  had  nothing  to  say. 

Walter  was  now  known  by  most  people  as  Gomery  of 
Montgomery.  He  had  been  so  called  while  in  college  ;  and 
after  his  return  he  was  called  so  by  the  people  of  the  vil- 
lage, in  contradistinction  to  his  father,  who  was  called 
the  Squire,  or  Square  as  the  villagers  most  generally  pro- 
nounced it. 

26* 


306  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY: 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


"  How  bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through  another  man's 
eyes ! "  —As  You  Like  It. 

Great  changes  have  taken  place  in  the  Gomery  Family 
during  the  time  that  Walter  has  been  pursuing  his  studies 
and  bothering  professors  at  college.  On  his  final  return,  he 
was  the  only  one  of  the  children  who  had  not  left  the  pater- 
nal roof,  never,  in  all  probability,  to  return  to  it  except  as  a 
transient  visitor.  His  elder  sister,  Juliet,  had,  while  he  was 
yet  a  freshman,  married  in  Philadelphia  a  man  twice  her  age, 
—  a  gentleman  famous  as  a  lawyer  and  statesman  through- 
out the  whole  country,  and,  at  the  time  of  her  marriage,  just 
elected  a  senator  in  Congress.  His  brother  Theron  had 
married  the  daughter  of  Jacob  Pickering,  President  of 
the  Security  Bank ;  his  only  child,  and  heiress  to  nobody  knew 
how  much  money.  He  had  taken  a  house  in  the  most  ex- 
clusive and  fashionable  part  of  the  city,  and  was  living  in 
great  splendor,  as  his  sister  Rose,  who  had  gone  soon  after 
the  marriage  to  visit  them,  had  written  home.  She  had 
spent  the  winter  in  New  York,  intending,  when  she  left  the 
Pivot,  to  go  on  to  Philadelphia  in  the  spring ;  but  this  plan 
was  frustrated,  as  might  have  been  foreseen.  A  man  who 
had  never  seen  her  was  lying  in  wait  for  her  to  come.  This 
was  Jenks,  who  will  be  remembered  as  the  particular  friend 
of  Theron  during  his  apprenticeship  at  the  Bullion.  He 
had  seen  the  elder  sister,  and  had  known  Theron  so  well,  and 
had  formed  so  favorable  an  opinion  of  the  whole  family,  that 
he  fancied  himself  in  love  with  Rose  even  before  he  saw  her. 
It  is  certain  he  was  soon  after;  and  she  did  not  reject  his 
attentions,  but  on  the  contrary,  to  the  great  joy  of  her 
brother,  reciprocated  his  love  with  that  ardor  peculiar  to  her 
enthusiastic  and  earnest  nature.  She  therefore  returned  in 
the  spring  to  her  home  to  pass  those  hopeful  yet  melancholy 
months  that  precede  that  important  event  which  removes 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  307 

the  loved  and  loving  daughter  from  the  fond  home  of  her 
childhood.  Thither  she  was  followed,  a  few  months  later,  by 
the  devoted  Jenks,  who  bore  back  to  his  home  in  New  York 
as  fair  a  bride  as  ever  breathed  the  mountain  air  of  New 
England.  The  career  of  Wirtimir  in  Philadelphia  had  been 
nearly  as  successful  as  that  of  his  elder  brother ;  as,  having 
been  promoted  to  a  partnership  with  his  uncle,  he  was  already 
on  the  high  road  to  fortune. 

This  unparalleled  success  of  the  children  caused  more 
gratification  than  surprise  to  Freeborn  Gomery  and  his  wife. 
She  was  not  surprised  at  all ;  indeed,  she  was  not  quite  satis- 
fied. As  we  said  long  ago,  she  was  conscious  of  a  something 
in  her  children  that  would  give  them  a  leading  position  in 
the  world.  If  it  were  so,  as  was  said  by  certain  envious  per- 
sons long  before,  that  she  must  have  married  Gomery  of 
Montgomery  on  physiological  principles,  the  result  would  go 
to  show  that  such  matches  were  not  always  unwise.  And 
yet  she  was  not  satisfied.  Though  her  elder  sons  were  on 
the  road  to  wealth  and  fortune,  she  hoped  to  see  one  of  her 
children  distinguished  for  something  more  than  a  capacity  to 
make  money,  or  take  a  lead  in  society  for  a  day,  and  then  be 
superseded  and  forgotten,  leaving  no  honored  name  to  pos- 
terity. Had  she  not  rejected  a  young  man  of  immense 
wealth  to  accept  the  comparatively  poor  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery ?  and  did  her  sons  promise  any  more  or  better  than 
the  man  whom  she  thought  unworthy  of  her  hand?  Had 
she  not,  in  her  days  of  courtship,  despised  Thomas  Fogue, 
when  she  compared  him  with  her  own  accepted  suitor?  and 
did  her  sons,  Theron  and  "Wirtimir,  promise  to  be  like  him, 
whom  no  woman  of  equal  character  and  discrimination  with 
herself  could  love  or  respect  ? 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  the  mind  of 
this  wisely  ambitious  woman.  She  hoped  to  see  one  of  her 
sons  famous ;  and  she  fancied  she  saw  in  Walter  the  germs 
of  originality  and  independent  thought  that  would  develop 
into  intellectual  greatness.  In  him  were  the  hopes  of  her 
mature  years  centred,  and  in  his  struggles  and  successes 
she  expected  to  find  the  excitements  and  delights  of  a  well- 
spent  life  for  her  declining  years. 

The  neighbors  of  Mrs.  Gomery  supposed  her  later  life 
must  be  that  of  unalloyed  happiness ;  and,  if  she  was  not  con- 
tent when  so  highly  blessed,  I  fear  the  charge  would  lie 


308  GOMEEY   OF   MONTGOMERY  .' 

against  her  of  possessing  an  ungrateful  and  rebellious  heart. 
But  her  life  had  been  one  of  such  constant  happiness,  in 
spite  of  the  small  disappointments  I  have  mentioned,  her 
ways  had  fallen  in  such  pleasant  places,  that  the  best  traits 
of  her  character  had  never  been  revealed.  The  most  envious 
of  her  neighbors,  however,  were  destined  to  see  her  subjected 
to  trials  such  as  their  worst  malignity  or  most  grudging 
envy  had  never  desired  to  witness,  and  to  see  her  rise  above 
them,  so  resigned  and  so  grand,  that  the  most  bigoted  of  her 
accusers  should  feel  humbled  before  her. 

But  when  one  after  another  of  the  young  Gomerys  had 
left  their  native  place,  and  the  news  had  come  back  to  Mont- 
gomery Village  of  the  success  they  had  met  with,  the  ambi- 
tion of  other  village  swains  was  fired,  so  that  they,  too,  must 
set  off  to  try  their  fortunes  abroad.  They  had  never,  as  boys, 
recognized  themselves  as  inferior  to  the  young  Gomerys;  and 
not  only  were  there  several  who  could  outrun,  outbox,  and 
outwrestle  them,  but  as  for  dancing,  half  the  fellows  in  the 
village  could  outwing  and  outshuffle  them.  It  was  true, 
they  had  always  been  more  forward  in  their  studies ;  but  that 
was  only  because  they  had  been  made  to  study  at  home 
under  parental  tuition,  while  the  others  were  hanging  about 
the  shops  and  stores,  skating  on  the  ponds,  or  snowballing 
in  the  streets.  "  If  the  Gomerys  could  do  so  well  abroad,  then 
why  could  not  they  ?  "  reasoned  these  hopeful  youths.  And 
parents  and  sisters  encouraged  them  in  their  ambitions  hopes 
and  schemes;  the  latter  imagining,  that,  if  their  brothers 
would  only  venture  forth,  they,  too,  would  somehow  soon  fol- 
low them  to  the  large  cities,  there  to  become,  like  Juliet  and 
Rose  Gomery,  the  wives  of  rich  merchants  and  bankers. 
With  such  encouragement,  some  half  a  dozen  young  men  in 
Montgomery  Village  resolved  to  give  up  the  vulgar,  hard 
labor  of  farming,  tending  saw-mills,  and  house-carpentering, 
and  go  forth  to  fields  more  worthy  of  their  talents  and  ambi- 
tion. Of  the  six  who  thus  left,  the  next  autumn  found  three  of 
them  back  to  Montgomery ;  and  these  had  been  obliged  to 
hire  out  for  the  season  as  lighterers  and  farm-hands,  instead 
of  being  sought  for,  as  they  had  anticipated,  to  take  the 
management  of  extensive  mercantile  houses.  Of  the  other 
three,  the  one  most  sprightly  and  intelligent  took  to  evil 
courses,  and  never  returned ;  another  shipped  as  a  green  hand 
before  the  mast ;  and  the  last  hired  out  as  a  drayman,  and, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  309 

after  a  few  months,  bought  a  dray  and  horse  for  himself,  and 
with  that  made  money  so  fast,  that  he  soon  bought  other 
drays  and  horses,  and  hired  men,  and,  in  a  few  years,  was 
able  to  return  to  his  native  village,  and  boast  often  thousand 
dollars  invested  in  real  estate  in  New  York,  and  of  drays 
and  horses  besides,  that  were  bringing  in  to  him  two  thousand 
dollars  a.  year  more,  clear  profit.  The  sailor,  whose  name 
was  Peter  Dykes,  we  shall  meet  with  again  in  the  course  of 
this  history. 

The  failure  of  those  other  young  men  who  left  Montgom- 
ery to  achieve  any  success  corresponding  to  that  of  the 
young  Gomerys  caused  people  to  have  more  respect  and 
awe  than  ever  for  Freeborn  Gomery  and  his  proud  and  still 
beautiful  wife.  The  neighboring  women  thought  it  very  strange 
that  she  never  evinced  surprise  or  gratitude  at  their  unparal- 
leled good  fortune.  Her  self-complacency,  her  manner  of 
accepting  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course,  was  exceedingly  amaz- 
ing to  them;  for  though  she  had  not  said  it  in  words 
since  the  time  of  the  great  ball,  when  she  had  so  furiously 
rebuked  the  wife  of  Tom  Homer  for  imagining,  that,  with 
all  the  art  of  Joe  Pumpagin,  she  could  mistake  any  other 
child  for  a  Gomery,  yet  did  her  whole  manner  say,  "  There  is 
nothing  strange  about  it  at  all.  It  is  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world.  The  children  of  Freeborn  Gomery  and  Jane 
Mackenzie  are  to  be  judged  by  no  common  test.  They  were 
born  to  prosper  and  lead.  There  was  a  harmony  of  health, 
bodily  and  mental,  that  gave  them  to  the  world,  adapted  and 
fitted  for  it.  In  their  case,  Nature's  laws  have  been  observed : 
a  healthy  parentage  on  both  sides  has  produced  a  healthy 
stock,  fitted  for  the  healthy  world  in  which  it  is  to  play  its 
part." 


END    OF   VOL.   I. 


GOMERY  OF  MONTGOMERY: 


%  Jfamxlg  pisiorg. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR   OF  "PHILIP  THAXTER. 


VOL.    II. 


*&. 


NEW    YORK: 

CARLETON,   PUBLISHER,  413   BROADWAY. 

MDCCCLXV. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

GEORGE  W.  CARLETON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


Geo.  C.  Rand  &  Avert,  Stereottpers  and  Printers, 
No.  3  Cornhill,  Boston. 


GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  Like  one  that  on  a  lonesome  road 

Doth  walk  in  fear  and  dread, 
And,  having  once  turned  round,  walks  on, 

And  turns  no  more  his  head, 
Because  he  knows  a  frightful  fiend 

Doth  close  behind  him  tread."  —  Coleridge. 

It  was  three  years,  more  or  less,  after  the  ludicrous  scene 
at  Lord  Maccleton's  dinner-table,  when  his  distinguished 
guests  were  disturbed  by  the  fireworks  so  inopportunely 
let  off  in  the  yard  and  under  the  dining-room  window  as  to 
throw  some  of  the  guests  under  the  table,  and  bring  to  the 
floor,  with  a  crash,  an  amount  of  glass  and  porcelain  that 
would  have  furnished  a  small  dealer  in  such  articles  with  a 
stock  sufficiently  expensive  and  elegant  to  have  insured  him 
a  large  custom,  that  a  traveller  called  at  the  lodge  of  the  old 
Beresford  Estate,  and  inquired  if  my  lord  was  at  home.  He 
was  a  stout  man,  of  uncertain  age ;  for  he  might  have  been 
forty-five,  and  he  might  have  been  sixty.  His  complexion, 
once  sandy,  was  inclining  to  gray :  he  had  a  merry  eye,  and 
his  nose  was  unnaturally  pug.  Of  course,  he  could  be  no 
other  than  Joe  Pumpagin.  He  began  somewhat  abruptly 
I  questioning  the  keeper,  whom  he  found  churlish,  and  chary 
of  his  answers;  and  Joe  found  it  necessary  to  resort  to  his 
usual  expedient  of  invention  and  story-telling  to  command 
attention. 

"  How  far  is  it,"  asked  he,  "  to  the  next  town  ? 

"  I  never  measured  the  distance,"  answered  the  keeper. 

"  Thank  you ! "  said  Joe.  "  What  does  his  lordship  pay 
you  for  treating  people  so  politely  ?  " 

"  'E  pays  me  wage,"  growled  the  keeper. 


4  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

"Well,  then,  give  him  my  respects  when  you  see  him 
next;  and  here,  old  woman,  can't  you  give  me  a  pot  of 
beer ?  " — "  No,"  said  she  sharply.  "Well,  then,  I  must  get  on 
to  the  next  town  without  it ;  for  I  have  got  to  lodge  an  in- 
formation with  the  magistrate." 

"  A  hinformation !  "  said  the  keeper  :  "  against  whom  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  against  whom ;  but  I  saw  the  most  daring 
highway  robbery  ever  committed  in  England  since  the  days 
of  Robin  Hood,  not  more  than  two  miles  from  here." 

"  A  robbery ! "  exclaimed  he  in  surprise,  taking  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  for  the  first  time  looking  at  his  visitor, 
—  "a  robbery ! " 

"  Yes :  a  robbery,  I  said,  not  half  a  league  from  here.  I 
must  hurry  along  and  report  it." 

"  Come  in,  and  tell  us  all  about  it,"  said  the  keeper's  wife, 
who  had  been  standing  in  the  door,  her  arms  akimbo,  during 
the  conversation  between  Joe  and  her  husband. 

Joe  accepted  this  invitation,  and  entered  the  lodge,  fol- 
lowed by  the  keeper ;  and,  taking  a  seat,  he  drew  forth  from 
his  pocket  a  pipe  so  black  as  to  prove  its  long  service,  a  plug 
of  tobacco,  and  jack-knife,  and  said,  as  he  began  clipping  off 
the  filling  for  the  dudeen,  "  Perhaps  you  will  give  me  a  light 
for  my  pipe  if  you  won't  give  me  a  drop  of  beer.  But  I 
can't  stop  long;  for  that  young  lady  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
robbers,  and  I  must  be  off  so  as  to  give  the  information." 

"  A  young  lady !  "  exclaimed  the  keeper.  "  Old  woman, 
bring  a  pot  of  beer ! " 

While  the  dutiful  wife  was  gone  for  the  beer,  Joe  filled 
his  pipe,  and,  finding  he  had  clipped  off  double  the  quan- 
tity the  bowl  could  contain,  gave  the  remainder  to  the  keep- 
er, who  in  turn  loaded  his  pipe,  and  then  raked  a  coal  from 
the  fireplace,  with  which  they  both  lighted  their  furnaces, 
and  began  puffing  away.  As  soon  as  the  old  woman  re- 
turned with  the  beer,  Joe  resumed  his  narrative  of  the  rob- 
bery. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  I  had  been  walking  pretty  brisk  for 
about  three  hours,  and  had  sot  down  to  rest  me  by  the  road- 
side. I  had  sot  only  a  few  minutes,  when  a  fine  carriage 
drawn  by  four  splendid  black  horses  swept  by.  There  were 
but  two  passengers  inside,  —  one  an  old  man,  and  the  other 
a  most  beautiful  young  lady,  with  eyes  that  sparkled  like  dia- 
monds, and  eyelashes  so  long  and  silky,  and  teeth  as  white 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  O 

as  pearls ;  and  then,  to  crown  all,  she  had  golden  hair,  that 
hung  in  the  most  beautiful  locks  about  her  cheeks,  neck,  and 
shoulders.  Well,  as  I  sot  there  on  the  grass,  the  carriage 
swept  by  me  like  a  whirlwind ;  and  I  was  so  impressed  with 
her  beauty,  that  I'm  scorched,  if  she  had  only  stopped  there, 
and  given  me  a  chance,  if  I  hadn't  made  her  an  offer  of  my 
hand,  heart,  and  fortune.  But  she  swept  by  me  in  a  twin- 
kling, and  was  no  sooner  past  than  twelve  ruffians  came  out 
of  the  forest  that  lined  the  road  on  one  side,  and  stopped  the 
carriage,  and  killed  the  driver  and  the  footman,  and  also  the 
old  man :  and  then  one  of  the  ruffians  got  on  the  box,  and 
took  the  reins ;  another  took  the  place  of  the  footman ;  a 
third,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader,  got  inside  with  the 
young  lady  with  golden  locks ;  and  off  they  drove  lick-a-ti- 
cut." 

"  Old  woman,"  said  the  keeper,  "  bring  on  some  cold  meat 
and  bread  and  cheese.    Bring  two  mugs  of  hale  too." 

"  It  is  my  treat  now,"  said  Joe,  throwing  down  a  sovereign 
to  the  old  woman ;  "and  that  is  just  the  change." 

The  good  woman  hurried  to  bring  the  things  called  for, 
having  first  put  the  sovereign  where  her  husband  could  not 
find  it ;  and  Joe  and  the  keeper  regaled  themselves  with  a 
hearty  lunch,  during  which  Joe  kept  up  the  favorable  impres- 
sion he  had  made  by  telling  other  stories  of  his  wonderful 
adventures,  so  much  more  marvellous  than  that  of  the  lady 
with  the  golden  locks,  that  they  all  forgot  about  the  urgent 
need  of  his  hastening  forward  so  as  to  give  information  to 
the  magistrate. 

The  beer  and  the  easy  confidence  of  Joe  soon  unlocked 
the  tongue  of  the  porter;  and,  to  Joe's  inquiries,  he  an- 
swered that  the  proprietor  of  that  estate  was  Lord  Beres- 
ford ;  and  that,  though  yet  a  young  man,  he  was  essentially 
used  up ;  that  he  had  been  the  wildest  young  lord  in  Eng- 
land, till  his  excesses  had  ruined  his  health ;  and  now,  at 
forty-five,  he  was  an  old  man. 

"  And  has  he  no  family  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  Indeed  'e  'as ;  and  'er  ladyship  is  a  fine  woman  too,  and 
has  two  sweet  children,  that  sometimes  come  down  to  the 
lodge.  But  the  poor  lady,  their  mother,  is  not  'appy,  —  so  the 
servants  at  the  'all  say.  She  is  the  daughter  of  Lord  Mac- 
cleton ;  but  'e  never  comes  to  visit  'er :  and  them  servants  up 
to  the  'all  says  that  the  butler  'e  'eard  'er  ladyship's  waiting- 


6  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

maid  say  that  she  'ad  'eard  'er  ladyship  say  to  the  little  girl 
that  is  the  oldest  child,  that  she  'ad  'er  mother's  fortune  in 
never  seeing 'er  father ;  and  then  'er  ladyship  stopped,  and 
said  to  'erself,  'I  never  saw  my  father  three  hours  since  I  left 
the  ship.'  Strange  !  —  wa'n't  it  strange  ?  But  then  these 
servants  are  always  talking.  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  say  a 
word  of  what  is  going  on  either  in  the  'all  or  on  the  estate. 
When  anybody  comes  prying  round  me  for  secrets,  they  go 
away  with  fleas  ia  their  ears.  That  is  the  reason,  you  see, 
why  I  spoke  to  you  so  roughly  at  first ;  for  I  didn't  know 
but  you  was  one  of  these  curis  sort  of  men,  wanting  to 
find  out  the  family  secrets;  and  I  was  determined  you  should 
not  get  a  thing  from  me.  But,  as  soon  as  I  saw  you  was  a 
gen'leman  and  man  of  truth,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  give  you  my 
confidence ;  and  I  hoffer  you  my  'and  in  apology  for  my 
rudeness  at  first." 

Joe,  having  thus  established  relations  of  friendship  and  con- 
fidence with  the  gate-keeper,  determined  to  push  on  to  the 
town  as  he  had  intended,  and  make  that  his  headquarters 
while  pursuing  his  investigations.  He  accordingly  bade  his 
friends  of  the  lodge  good-by,  and  walked  briskly  away,  prom- 
ising to  call  again  and  visit  them  should  he  ever  pass  that 
way  again.  In  an  hour  and  a  half,  he  reached  a  considerable 
town  or  village,  and  went  directly  to  the  best  hotel  in  the 
place.  He  was  somewhat  begrimed  with  dust  and  dirt,  and 
had  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  sailor  who  had  doffed  his 
seaman's  garb  to  conceal  his  occupation.  As  he  entered  the 
door  of  the  inn,  the  landlord,  a  fat  round-bellied  man,  formal 
as  a  priest,  with  a  sort  of  Quaker  coat  and  white  choker,  eyed 
him  askance,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  I  get  ready,"  said  Joe,  throwing  his 
bundle  on  a  table,  and  taking  a  chair. 

"  Oh,  sir ! "  said  Boniface,  "  I  am  not  particular :  only  I  was 
going  to  say  this  is  a  'otel  of  the  first  class,  very  expensive ; 
and  only  the  betters  of  you,  such  as  gen'lemen  and  lords  and 
great  ladies,  ever  stop  here." 

"  The  devil  they  do !  Then  this  is  just  the  house  for  my 
money.  I  have  been  hunting  for  my  betters  for  a  long  time; 
and,  as  you  say  they  stop  here,  I  think  I  will  put  up  here  for 
a  few  weeks.  So  bring  me  a  pot  of  beer,  and  be  quick  about 
it,  old  Butter-face !  " 

The  landlord  rose  on  tiptoe ;  and  his  eyes  rolled  up  as  if 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  7 

he  thought  the  Devil  had  come  to  claim  his  own,  and  thjn 
timidly  said,  "  I  beg  pardon ;  but  this  is  not  an  inn  for  the 
likes  of  you." 

"  Bring  me  the  beer ! "  said  Joe,  bringing  his  cane  down 
athwart  the  table,  so  that  it  caused  the  very  floor  to  rebound 
like  a  spring  board,  so  as  to  raise  the  landlord  to  his  toes.  It 
was  a  hint  he  did  not  care  to  disregard :  nor  did  he  venture 
to  remonstrate  further ;  but,  going  out,  he  called  a  boy  who 
was  in  the  yard,  and  told  him  to  run  and  fetch  a  constable ; 
and  then,  thinking  it  prudent  to  keep  his  visitor  quiet  by 
complying  with  his  request,  he  brought  in  a  pint  mug  of 
beer,  and  set  it  on  the  table  before  his  burly  customer. 

"Another!"  said  Joe,  "another!  do  you  think  I  can  drink 
alone  ?  "  and  he  looked  ominously  at  his  stick  that  was  lying 
on  the  table.  Another  pint  was  brought ;  and  Joe  then  said, 
"  Sit  down,  my  friend,  sit  down,  and  let  us  be  social ;  for,  as 
you  say  yours  is  a  first-rate  tavern,  I  intend  to  stop  here  some 
time,  say  a  month  or  two :  for  the  fact  is,"  giving  the  indig- 
nant host  a  punch  in  the  ribs  that  made  him  reel,  "I  took  a 
great  fancy  to  you  when  I  first  saw  you.  I  liked  your  coun- 
tenance much ;  for  I  agree  with  tho  great  bard  of  Avon,  — 

*  The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself/  — 

no,  I  don't  mean  that :  — 

'  Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat,  — 
Sleek-headed  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'  nights. 
Yond'  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look  : 
He  thinks  too  much  :  such  men  are  dangerous.' 

"Now,  you  are  none  of  that  lean  and  hungry  kind,  but 
sleek-headed  and  fat,  and  can  sleep,  I  warrant  you,  like  a 
bear  in  winter.  So  here  is  to  a  better  acquaintance ! "  Joe 
drained  his  mug,  and  so  did  Boniface,  though  with  fear  and 
trembling. 

"  Now,  landlord,"  said  Joe,  wiping  his  lips  with  his  coat- 
sleeve,  "  you  are  a  fool.  But  it  is  no  fault  of  yours.  Your 
lazy  frame  is  so  beswaddled  with  fat,  and  your  thimbleful 
of  brains  so  befuzzled  with  beer,  that  you  can't  tell  the  differ- 
ence between  a  clown  and  a  nobleman.  You  think  that  I 
am  not  respectable  enough  for  your  tavern.  But  know  you, 
old  Butter-face,  I  am  intending  to  stop  here  for  a  month  ;  and 
you  must  serve  me  with  the  best  your  house  affords,  and 


8  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY : 

that  will  be  too  poor  for  a  man  of  my  quality.  Be  jause  I 
came  on  foot,  you  stare  and  scowl,  and  look  as  suspicious  as 
a  policeman,  and  as  if  afraid  I  hadn't  a  shilling  to  pay  for 
my  beer.  Here,  then ;  take  your  pay  for  two  pints  out  of 
that ! "  said  he,  throwing  down  a  hundred-pound  note. 

The  host  looked  at  the  note,  then  at  Joe,  and  was  more 
disconcerted  than  ever.  "  He  is  a  highwayman,  most  prob- 
ably," thought  he,  though  he  answered,  — 

"  Oh !  it's  no  consequence  about  the  beer.  I  can't  change 
this  note." 

"  All  right,"  said  Joe,  putting  it  back  in  his  pocket.  "  It 
is  very  kind  in  you  to  stand  treat  on  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance. Show  me  my  room  now,  if  you  please.  I  want  to 
wash  off  the  dirt  and  dust ;  and  then  I  want  some  supper,  — 
the  best  you  have  got.  Do  you  understand,  old  Butter- 
face?" 

The  landlord  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  anxiously  forth 
to  see  if  the  boy  had  not  returned  with  a  constable.  But 
neither  boy  nor  constable  was  to  be  seen;  and  then,  very 
reluctantly,  he  led  his  unwelcome  guest  up  stairs.  They 
passed  the  open  door  of  a  large  and  well-furnished  room,  and 
on  towards  the  back  part  of  the  house,  till  they  came  to  a 
small  room  with  little  furniture,  and  that  old  and  rickety; 
and  to  this  room  Joe  was  shown. 

"  This  for  me ! "  said  Joe  indignantly.  "  Never  do  at  all. 
Take  my  bundle  of  duds  into  that  other  room !  " 

"  Oh  !  that  is  my  best  room.  Lord  Dawdley  occupies  that 
room  when  in  town  ;  and  the  Duke  of  Botchester  was  once 
detained  in  town  on  his  way  to  London,  and  slept  in  that 
very  room ;  and  my  wife  has  now  got  the  sheets  he  slept  in, 
and  has  never  allowed  them  to  be  washed." 

"  I  dare  say  they  needed  it  badly  enough,  however,"  said 
Joe.  "  But  take  my  bundle  in  there,  if  you  please  ;  and  just 
shut  up  your  clam-shells,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  your 
gab ! " 

There  was  no  resisting  that  order ;  and  the  rotund,  pale, 
and  affrighted  landlord  escorted  Joe  into  the  room  made 
sacred  from  having  been  occupied  by  Lord  Dawdley  and  the 
Duke  of  Botchester. 

The  landlord  threw  the  bundle  on  the  floor,  as  if  fearing 
it  was  infested  with  some  contagious  disease,  and  then  re- 
treated towards  the  door;  and  Joe,  closely  following  him 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  9 

up,  shut  it  to,  and  locked  it,  and  then,  opening  L  is  bundle, 
proceeded  to  wash  himself  and  change  his  linen.  On  return- 
ing to  the  office  below,  the  distracted  landlord  found  that 
the  boy  had  returned  with  the  constable  ;  but  when  he  had 
told  his  story,  that  the  man  to  be  arrested  had  called  for  beer 
for  two,  and  offered  to  pay  with  a  hundred-pound  note,  and 
had  committed  no  breach  of  the  peace,  but  was  quietly 
locked  up  in  his  own  room,  the  officer  declined  to  interfere. 

"  He  may  be  a  lord  in  disguise,"  said  the  innkeeper.  "  Why 
didn't  I  think  of  that  before  ?  Perhaps  a  Scotch  lord.  I'm 
sure  he's  no  Englishman,  nor  is  he  an  Irishman.  How  stu- 
pid I  was  not  to  think  of  that  before !  Yes :  he  must  be  a 
lord.  Of  course  he  must  be ;  for  he  said  he  took  a  fancy  to  me 
at  first  sight.  Nothing  like  blood :  you  can  see  that  by  look- 
ing at  me.  My  mother  was  a  waiting-maid  to  Lady  Dum- 
pledon ;  and,  though  I  say  nothing  against  my  mother  (and  I 
say  it  who  ought  not  to  say  it),  I  have  noble  blood  in  my  veins. 
And  Lord  Dumpledon  set  me  up  in  this  business.  So,  of 
course,  this  man  is  a  lord,  or  how  could  he  have  taken  such 
a  liking  to  me  and  my  house?  There  is  a  fellow-feeling 
among  people  of  noble  blood ;  always  is :  '  birds  of  a  feather,' 
you  know." 

The  officer,  finding  that  the  culprit  he  was  to  arrest  had  turned 
out  a  lord,  having  moistened  his  clay  at  his  host's  expense, 
went  about  his  business ;  and  the  now-delighted  landlord, 
feeling  confident  that  he  had  one  of  the  nobility  in  his  care 
and  keeping,  went  and  ordered  such  a  supper  as  would  be 
meet  and  meat  for  so  distinguished  a  guest. 

In  about  half  an  hour,  Joe  re-appeared  below ;  and  the  host, 
much  to  his  surprise,  was  now  all  politeness  and  attention. 
He  invited  him  into  a  sitting-room,  and  most  obsequiously 
asked  what  his  lordship  would  please  to  have. 

"  Lordship,  lordship !  Ha,  ha !  How  did  you  find  that 
out  ?     Show  me  the  rascal  that  told  you  I  was  a  lord ! " 

"  Oh !  we  men  of  noble  blood  can  always  tell ;  and,  you 
understand,  my  mother  —  but  no  matter  for  that.  My 
lather  was  a  lord :  perhaps  you  knew  him  ?  —  Lord  Dumple- 
don." 

"  What!  are  you  a  son  of  my  old  friend,  Lord  Dumpledon  ? 
Why,  I  might  have  known  that,  you  are  so  like  him.  He 
was  a  fat  old  beast ;  and  there's  where  you  got  your  pig's  eyes 
and  butter-face.  But  what  have  you  got  for  supper? 
Hurry  up :    I  am  sharp  set  as  a  shark." 


10  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

"  Your  lordship  shall  be  served  directly,"  said  the  man  oi* 
noble  blood,  bowing  himself  obsequiously  from  the  room. 

In  a  short  time  he  returned,  and  said  his  lordship's  dinner 
was  ready,  and  with  great  formality  bowed  him  into  the 
dining-room,  where  a  repast  was  prepared  that  was  indeed 
fit  for  a  lord.  Joe  brought  to  the  charge  an  appetite  worthy 
of  the  entertainment ;  and,  when  he  had  concluded,  he  went 
into  the  hall,  and  from  there  to  the  front  of  the  house, 
where  he  seated  himself  in  full  view  of  the  street  and  town, 
and  to  the  horror  of  his  host,  and  the  surprise  of  the  villagers, 
—  many  of  whom,  having  heard  that  a  lord  was  at  the  inn,  had 
gathered  round  to  get  a  sight  of  him,  —  he  took  out  his  old 
black  pipe  from  his  pocket,  and,  filling  it  with  chips  cut  from 
a  plug  of  old  Virginia,  ordered  Butter-face  to  bring  him  a 
light.  The  order  was  instantly  obeyed ;  and  the  newly  creat- 
ed peer  began  to  send  forth  the  white  smoke,  that  curled 
with  aristocratic  grace  as  it  mounted  up  through  the  evening 
twilight. 

The  next  morning  Joe  ordered  writing  materials,  and 
wrote  the  following  letter:  — 

Lady  Beresford,  —  Being  in  possession  of  information 
of  great  interest  to  yourself,  and  no  less  to  your  reputed 
father,  Lord  Maccleton,  I  take  this  method  of  informing  you 
in  what  manner  it  can  be  obtained.  The  purport  of  my  in- 
formation you  may  surmise,  if  you  will  recall  the  earliest 
recollections  of  your  childhood,  —  the  time  when  you  lived  in 
the  backwoods  of  America,  and  you  were  carried  away  a  cap- 
tive by  an  old  Indian,  the  house  where  you  lived  burned 
down,  and  all  your  friends  murdered.  Lord  Maccleton  can 
explain  every  thing ;  but,  if  he  declines  to  do  so,  you  can 
learn  more  by  sending  a  letter  to  me  at  the  Golden  Bull,  in 
London,  Holborn,  where  all  inquiries  will  be  answered. 

Yours  to  command, 

Joseph  Porter 

This  letter  Joe  posted  for  himself,  and  then  returned  to 
the  inn,  where  he  was  treated  with  most  oppressive  con* 
descension.  In  the  evening,  he  called  in  several  of  the  villa- 
gers, and  told  the  host  to  treat  them  all  to  the  best  in  his 
cellar.     lie  asked  him  if  he  knew  how  to  make  flip. 

"  Flip  ?  Ah !  yes ;  no.  Scotch  drink,  I  suppose  ?  No :  the 
last  of  the  tap  was  drunk  when  Lord  Dumpledon  was  here.* 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  11 

"The  devil  it  was!  Ah!  I  remember  his  lordship  was 
very  fond  of  it.  But  never  mind :  give  the  boys  plenty  of 
beer  and  gin,  and  charge  it  all  to  me."  He  then  singled  out 
the  raggedest  and  dryest  looking  of  the  crowd,  and  brought 
them  in,  and  made  them  drink;  and,  calling  in  all  the  others 
who  had  collected  outside,  he  kept  up  such  a  run  on  the  cel- 
lar, that  poor  Pilicod  was  driven  to  desperation  serving  his 
thirsty  customers. 

"  You  might  know  he  was  a  lord,"  said  one,  "  by  his  being 
so  noble  and  gen'rous,  and  willing  to  drink  with  poor  people. 
It's  only  the  rale  old  nobles  that  dare  to  be  civil  to  the  likes 
of  us.  Take  your  rich  men  that  have  just  made  their  money, 
and  they  are  afraid  to  speak  to  anybody  that  is  not  a  lord. 
So  hurrah  for  the  old  aristocracy  !  " 

The  crowd  was  getting  fast  inebriated,  and  gave  a  yell  for 
the  nobility  in  general,  and  its  distinguished  member  now 
present  in  particular ;  when  Joe,  bidding  the  landlord  keep 
the  ale  running,  quietly  withdrew,  and  went  to  his  own 
room. 

Before  the  crowd  dispersed,  there  were  several  broken 
heads  and  bloody  noses ;  and  the  landlord  thought,  that,  if 
he  were  to  have  many  such  lords  at  his  house,  its  reputation 
would  be  in  danger. 

The  next  day,  Joe  told  his  host  that  he  liked  his  house 
so  much,  that  he  should  probably  stop  with  him  for  several 
weeks ;  but  begged  that  he  might  be  treated  as  an  ordinary 
guest,  and  not  as  a  lord. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  understand,"  said  Boniface.  "  Your  lordship 
has  come  away  into  these  quiet  parts  to  have  a  little  quiet, 
and  get  away  from  the  noble  company  that  is  now  probably 
roaming  about  in  the  Highlands." 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  he  was  called  upon  by  the  local 
dignitaries,  who  proffered  their  services  to  render  agreeable 
his  stay  in  the  obscure  town  which  he  had  honored  by  his 
presence.  But  Joe  told  them  he  wanted  quiet  rather  than 
attention ;  though,  in  his  travels,  he  was  always  glad  to  learn 
as  much  as  possible  of  the  principal  families ;  and,  during  the 
the  time  of  his  stay,  he  should  busy  himself  in  gathering  up 
bits  of  history  of  the  place,  which  information  he  should 
make  use  of  in  the  great  book  he  was  preparing.  But,  in  all 
his  inquiries,  he  always  reverted  to  one  subject;  and  that 
was  Beresford  Hall  and  its  occupants.    He  could  gather  little, 


12  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  J 

however,  from  the  town's-people  save  that  it  was  reported 
that  Lady  Beresford  was  a  miserable  and  unhappy  woman  ; 
that  she  was  not  on  good  terms  with  her  father,  Lord  Mac- 
cleton,  who  had  never  been  to  visit  her ;  and  that  her  hus- 
band was  a  dissipated  rake  and  spendthrift,  and  ran  riot  with 
all  the  loose  characters  of  the  county. 

Joe  sharply  caught  at  every  scrap  of  information  bearing 
upon  the  inmates  of  Beresford  Hall,  and  was  not  displeased 
to  find  how  well  every  thing  that  happened  there  was  known 
at  the  neighboring  town.  He  expected,  therefore,  soon  to 
hear  of  a  new  commotion  there.  Nor  was  he  disappointed. 
About  three  days  after  he  had  posted  the  letter  signed  "Joseph 
Porter,"  there  was  a  rumor  in  town  of  a  great  tumult  at  the 
hall;  that  Lady  Beresford  had  been  taken  strangely,  and  had 
raved  about  the  house,  calling  her  father  a  murderer,  tearing 
her  hair,  and  shrieking  like  a  mad  woman ;  that  she  had 
shown  such  violence,  and  altogether  cut  up  so,  that  she  had 
been  locked  up  in  her  room ;  and  had  since  been  so  ill, 
that  Lord  Maccleton  had  been  sent  for,  and  there  was  great 
fear  that  her  ladyship  had  gone  crazy. 

This  information  did  not  surprise  Joe  very  much ;  for  he 
felt  assured  that  his  letter  had  caused  this  great  commotion. 
His  object  at  the  town  had  now  been  accomplished;  and, 
two  days  after,  he  told  his  host  that  he  thought  he  would 
leave.  So,  having  paid  his  bill,  he  took  his  bundle  on  his 
shoulder,  and  trudged  back  the  way  he  had  come,  and,  about 
eleven  o'olock,  stopped  at  the  lodge  to  talk  with  his  old 
friend  the  porter.  The  old  man  was  now  free  to  converse, 
and  told  him  that  there  was  sad  trouble  at  the  hall ;  that 
the  mistress  was  mad,  and  like  to  die ;  and  her  father  had 
been  sent  for,  and  had  arrived  at  the  hall  for  the  first  time 
in  sixteen  years  ;  and  having  gone  into  the  room  where  Lady 
Beresford  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  j)resence  of  her  maids,  she 
sprang  up  at  the  sight  of  him,  and  held  out  a  letter,  and, 
with  eyes  flashing  fire,  cried  out,  "  I  knew  it !  I  remember 
all  about  it!  The  old  Indian  —  my  mother  —  my  father! 
Oh,  you  killed  them !  Let  me  go !  I  will  go  !  I  will  go  to 
London,  and  find  out  all  about  it ! "  And  then,  with  a  shriek 
that  could  be  heard  all  through  the  hall,  she  fell  senseless  on 
the  floor;  and  then  the  old  lord,  her  father,  caught  the  letter 
from  her  hand,  and  left  the  room ;  and  having  warned  all  the 
servants,  that,  if  they  ever  mentioned  the  affair  to  anybody, 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  13 

they  would  all  be  sent  to  Botany  Bay,  he  left  the  hall  immedi- 
ately. "  Notwithstanding  being  thus  warned,"  said  the  loqua- 
cious porter,  "  the  stupid,  disobedient  servants  are  all  talking 
about  it  to  everybody ;  and  I  am  the  only  one  on  the  place 
that  has  sense  enough  to  say  nothing  about  it."  Joe  com- 
mended the  honest  lodge-keeper  for  his  fidelity  and  caution ; 
and  the  latter  having  ordered  the  old  woman  to  bring  two 
pints  of  beer,  some  cold  meat,  and  bread  and  cheese,  the  two 
held  a  discussion  over  the  collation,  such  as  would  have 
done  credit  to  princes  of  the  blood  royal  of  England. 

Joe  was  now  satisfied  that  the  train  was  laid,  and  that  an 
explosion  must  sooner  or  later  take  place ;  that  the  avenging 
Nemesis  which  had  so  long  pursued  the  unrepentant  Lord 
Maccleton  must  soon,  amid  the  glare  and  scorn  of  the 
world,  hurl  him,  in  ignominy  and  shame,  to  destruction. 
He  therefore  concluded  that  he  would  return  to  London,  and 
there  await  the  issue  of  events.  So  he  bade  the  porter  and 
his  wife  good-by,  and  directed  his  steps  to  the  nearest  post- 
road.  By  the  first  coach  that  came  along,  he  took  passage 
to  the  great  city. 

On  reaching  London,  and  taking  a  survey  of  the  field,  he 
was  convinced  that  the  house  of  Sir  Henderson  Strongham 
was  the  place  where  he  could  best  learn  of  those  coming 
events  in  which  he  was  most  interested.  The  whole  matter 
of  Lady  Beresford's  strange  illness  and  strange  conduct  was 
sure  to  be  talked  about  above-stairs  and  below-stairs  ;  and  it 
was  Joe's  next  scheme  to  get  into  the  baronet's  house  in 
some  capacity  as  a  servant.  Joe,  as  the  reader  has  seen 
before  this,  was  a  genius.  Whenever  he  had  a  will  to 
do  a  thing,  he  always  found  a  way.  For  an  ordinary  man, 
no  matter  how  competent  or  honest  he  may  be,  it  is  next  to 
impossible  to  force  his  way  into  the  service  of  an  English 
family  of  established  wealth  and  position.  The  servants 
grow  up  a  part  of  the  household,  and,  like  the  bleached 
servants  of  "our  Southern  brethren,"  often  have  ties  of 
blood  to  connect  them  to  the  family.  Joe  easily  found  the 
city  residence  of  Sir  Henderson;  and  by  a  judicious  use  of 
money  expended  in  beer,  and  his  unfailing  fund  of  strange 
stories,  he  contrived,  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  weeks,  to 
work  himself  into  a  familiar  and  confidential  acquaintance 
with  most  of  the  servants  below-stairs.     By  a  singular  coin- 


14  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

cidence,  of  which  he  had  taken  warrant,  and  provided  for  its 
occurrence,  one  of  the  kitchen-servants  received  a  letter 
from  a  friend  in  the  country,  saying  that  his  mother  was  very 
sick,  and  desired  to  see  him.  The  boy  got  leave  of  absence 
for  a  month ;  and  Joe,  by  another  strange  coincidence,  hap- 
pened to  be  conveniently  near,  so  as  to  be  asked  to  fill  the 
vacancy.  As  the  boy  was  leaving  to  visit  his  affectionate 
parent,  Joe  took  him  aside,  and  told  him  that  he  would  not 
touch  a  cent  of  the  wage,  but  leave  it  all  for  him  on  his 
return,  even  if  he  staid  away  for  a  whole  quarter ;  and  as  an 
earnest  of  his  intentions,  and  a  reward  for  his  filial  affection, 
as  he  assured  him,  he  slipped  five  guineas  into  his  hand,  and 
with  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand,  and  trembling  voice,  he  bade 
him  good-by. 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  15 


CHAPTER    II. 

"  Like  to  the  Pontic  Sea, 
Whose  icy  current  and  compulsive  course 
Ne'er  feels  retiring  ebb,  but  Keeps  due  on 
To  the  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont; 
Even  so  my  bloody  thoughts,  with  violent  pace, 
Shall  ne'er  look  back,  ne'er  ebb  to  humble  love, 
Till  that  a  capable  and  wide  revenge 
Swallow  them  up."  —  Othello. 

Joe  Petmpagin,  having  thus  secured  a  place  in  the  baronet's 
kitchen,  was  in  a  position  to  observe  the  denouement  of  the 
great  tragedy  that  had  been  working  to  its  catastrophe  for  so 
many,  many  years.  He  was  aware  that  an  effort  to  discover 
him  would  be  made  by  Lady  Beresford;  and  the  lodge-keeper's 
story  of  the  interview  between  her  and  Lord  Maccleton,  of 
the  seizure  and  reading  of  the  letter  by  the  latter,  left  no 
doubt  in  his  mind  that  two  parties,  but  with  very  different 
objects,  would  be  in  search  of  him.  The  address  he  had  given 
in  the  letter  was  doubtless  known  to  both  parties.  It  was  at 
a  well-known  public-house,  where  he  had  frequently  stopped, 
and  with  the  hostess  of  which  he  was  well  acquainted.  Very 
probably  Lord  Maccleton  would  go  there,  and  inquire  of  her  if 
she  knew  of  such  a  person  as  Joseph  Porter,  probably  an 
American.  Joe  then  thought  that  he  had  not  observed  his 
usual  caution  in  signing  his  letter  with  a  name  having  the  same 
initials  of  his  own.  However,  he  went  to  the  place  which 
he  had  designated,  and  inquired  if  any  letter  had  been  left 
there  for  a  man  by  the  name  of  Porter. 

"  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Pumpagin,"  answered  the  hostess.  "A  man 
as  was  a  lord,  I  think,  for  'e  came  in  a  grand  carriage  as  'ad  a 
coat  of  harms  on  the  panels ;  and  'e  axed  for  it,  and  I  showed 
it  to  'im,  and  'e  threw  down  'alf  a  crown,  and  took  it  away.  I 
should  not  'ave  let  'im  'ad  it ;  but  'e  was  such  a  fierce-looking 
man !  He  was  an  old  man  with  gray  'air  and  whiskers ;  and  'e 
could  look  at  nobody  in  the  face,  but  was  allers  turning  his 
face  as  if  there  was  something  hawful  right  before  'im.    'E 


16  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

told  me,  if  I  would  keep  all  other  letters  that  came  to  the 
same  man  for  'im,  'e  would  give  me  a  guinea  apiece  for  'em." 

"  Well,"  says  Joe,  "there  is  a  friend  of  mine  down  to  the 
King's  Arms,  Cheapside  :  his  name  is  Alden,  —  Oliver  Alden. 
He  is  expecting  letters  here  ;  and  as  he  is  sick,  and  can't  come 
for  them  himself,  you  will  keep  them  till  I  call  for  them.  Here 
is  half  a  guinea  to  make  you  remember." 

"Bring  him  Imp  'ere.  There  is  no  better  place  in  hall 
London  for  a  sick  man  than  the  Golden  Bull." 

"  He  is  too  sick  for  that  now  ;  but  he  may  come  when  he  is 
better.  Don't  forget  the  name  now  :  here,  let  me  write  it  down 
on  a  bit  of  paper."  Then,  taking  up  pen  and  paper  from  the 
desk,  he  wrote  the  name,  and  handed  the  slip  to  the  buxom 
hostess. 

"  Holiver  Halden.  I  will  remember,"  placing  the  name 
in  a  little  rack  that  was  fastened  to  the  wall,  and  was  intended 
to  hold  letters  and  odd  memorandums.  "Now,"  said  Joe,  if 
any  letter  comes  to  my  friend  Oliver,  don't  put  it  up  there, 
and  don't  let  anybody  else  see  it ;  for,"  said  he  in  a  whisper, "  I 
am  afraid  the  police  are  after  him.  Just  hide  the  letter  till  I 
call  for  it,  and  it  will  be  all  right."  The  plump-faced,  good- 
natured  hostess  said  she  knew  a  thing  or  two ;  and  Joe,  bidding 
her  good-by,  returned  to  his  duties  in  Sir  Henderson's  kitchen. 

A  few  days  after,  it  was  reported  among  the  servants  that 
Lady  Beresford  was  coming  to  town ;  and  that,  being  seriously 
ill,  her  father,  Lord  Maccleton,  had  come  before  her  to  make 
arrangements ;  and  that,  as  the  town  residence  of  his  lordship 
was  undergoing  extensive  repairs,  she  was  coming  to  stop  at 
Sir  Henderson's.  Lady  Beresford  was  said  to  be  sick  in  body, 
and  worse  in  mind,  as  one  of  the  maids  had  heard  his  lordship 
say  to  his  sister,  the  baronet's  wife.  It  was  known  that  he  had 
held  several  very  long  interviews  with  his  sister ;  and  when,  a 
few  days  after,  she  arrived,  there  was  a  mystery  and  secrecy  ob- 
served by  the  servants,  that  greatly  provoked  their  curiosity, 
and  was  sure  to  draw  out  the  reasons  for  it. 

Joe  was  now  in  the  same  house  with  Lady  Beresford ;  and 
his  next  object  was  to  convey  a  message  to  her.  He  saw  that 
ghe  was  closely  watched  and  guarded,  and  that  only  by  shrewd 
management  and  tact  could  he  hope  to  convey  to  her  any 
warning  or  message.  But  Joe,  as  has  been  seen  and  said,  was 
a  genius,  and  no  ordinary  genius  either.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  had  the  mastery  of  his  accidents,  and,  when  necessary, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  17 

could  create  occasions  and  means  to  accomplish  his  purpose. 
He  wrote  the  following  on  a  small  slip  of  paper ;  and,  folding 
it  over  till  it  was  not  larger  than  a  shilling,  he  awaited  till 
he  could  find  or  make  his  opportunity : — 

"  LadyBeresford,  —  Lord  Maccleton  got  the  other  addressed  to  Joseph 
Porter.     Write  again  to  Oliver  Alden,  —  same  place." 

This  note  Joe  carried  in  his  pocket  for  three  days,  and 
could  find  no  means  nor  think  of  any  device  to  send  it  to 
her  ladyship ;  till  one  morning  he  met  her  maid  in  the  kitch- 
en, bearing  on  a  tray  an  invalid's  breakfast. 

"  Who  is  that  for  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"  My  mistress,  Lady  Beresford,  of  course,"  replied  the  maid, 
turning  from  him  with  a  look  that  said  that  he  had  no  busi- 
ness to  ask  such  impertinent  questions.  At  that  instant,  Joe 
hurled  the  large  butcher-knife  which  he  held  at  that  moment 
in  his  hand  across  the  room,  into  a  shelf  of  crockery.  The 
crash  caused  the  maid  in  alarm  to  look  in  the  direction  of 
the  noise  ;  and  at  the  instant  Joe  deposited  his  letter  between 
two  slices  of  dry  toast  that  were  on  the  tray.  He  then  ran 
to  see  the  cause  of  the  disaster,  and  began  swearing  at  the 
d d  cats  while  the  maid  hurried  away  to  her  mistress's  apart- 
ments. He  inferred  that  the  note  was  received ;  for  the  next 
day  it  was  reported  below-stairs  that  Lady  Beresford  was  so 
much  better,  that  she  insisted  on  driving  out ;  and  the  horses 
and  carriage  were  ordered  for  that  purpose.  Lady  Strongham 
insisted  on  accompanying  her  dear  niece ;  though  the  latter 
said  it  was  unnecessary,  as  she  was  quite  well,  and  able  to  go 
by  herself  and  maid.  The  evident  determination  of  the  old 
lady  to  accompany  her  showed  very  clearly  to  Lady  Beresford 
that  she  was  closely  watched,  and  that  it  was  the  purpose  of 
her  dear  relatives  to  defeat  any  efforts  she  might  make  to  com- 
municate with  anybody  else.  The  position  in  which  she 
found  herself,  however,  served  to  convince  her  that  it  was 
necessary  to  preserve  her  self-control ;  that,  whatever  might 
happen  to  her,  she  must  not  again  give  way  to  her  emotions 
as  she  had  done  at  the  hall  on  the  receipt  of  the  letter  of 
"Joseph  Porter."  She  now  had  a  part  to  act,  an  object  to 
accomplish ;  and,  if  she  would  succeed,  she  must  steel  her 
nerves  to  callous  insensibility,  and  wear  a  placid  face  to 
conceal  the  workings  of  an  indignant,  raging,  stormy  heart. 
She  must  now  call  into  action  powers  such  as  she  had  never 
2* 


18  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

exercised,  and  which  she  was  not  sure  that  she  possessed. 
Sentiment  and  emotion  must  now  be  subordinate  to  the  will ; 
and  the  demonstrative  woman  must  become  the  self-re- 
strained, impassive  actress.  Her  object  now  was  to  get  a  letter 
unobserved  into  the  post-office,  and  above  all  things  avoid 
exciting  suspicion.  She  saw  it  would  be  far  better  not  to 
make  the  attempt  then  than  to  make  it  and  fail.  She  would 
therefore  be  prepared  with  her  letter  ;  and,  if  the  opportunity 
offered,  avail  herself  of  it;  and  if  not,  would  bide  her  time. 

Joe  Pumpagin  had  no  doubt,  when  he  heard  that  Lady 
Beresford  was  going  out  for  a  drive,  what  was  the  object  of 
it ;  and,  with  the  celerity  of  genius,  he  contrived  to  have  the 
coachman  where  he  could  not  be  found  when  he  was  wanted. 
Then,  much  against  his  will  of  course,  he  consented  to  serve 
in  that  capacity  himself.  On  entering  the  carriage,  Lady 
Strongham  asked  her  niece  whither  she  cared  to  go. 

"  To  see  the  parks  and  streets,"  said  the  latter,  sinking 
back  disheartened  into  her  seat. 

They  drove  about  for  two  hours;  but  never  once  did  Lady 
Beresford  look  out,  or  pay  the  least  regard  to  her  affection- 
ate aunt,  who  was  calling  her  attention  to  many  objects  of 
public  interest  as  they  drove  by  them.  In  the  course  of  the 
drive,  however,  the  elder  lady  had  occasion  to  stop  at  a  dry- 
goods  store  to  make  some  purchases.  While  she  was  thus 
engaged,  Lady  Beresford  looked  out,  and  inquired  of  the 
footman  if  there  was  a  post-office  near  by. 

"Don't  know  of  any,"  said  the  handsome  youth. 

"Ay,  ay,  your  ladyship,"  said  Joe,  jumping  down  to  the 
sidewalk.  "  There  is  one  just  around  the  corner :  give  me 
your  letter." 

The  manner  of  Joe  disarmed  the  lady ;  and  she  gave  him 
the  letter,  which  he  contrived  to  receive  at  the  same  time 
that  he  directed  the  footman's  attention  in  another  direction. 
He  passed  round  the  nearest  corner,  and,  as  soon  as  out  of 
sight,  put  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  returned  just  in  time 
to  prevent  the  footman  from  answering  the  question  of  Lady 
Strongham  as  to  what  had  become  of  him.  He  knew  that 
the  first  question  of  the  suspicious  lady  would  be  for  the  ab- 
sent coachman,  and  that  the  handsome  lout  in  livery  would 
have  no  more  sense  than  to  blurt  out  the  truth,  —  that  he  had 
gone  to  post  a  letter  for  her  ladyship  in  the  carriage ;  and  that 
then  there  would,  sooner  or  later,  follow  an  explosion.     So, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  19 

as  soon  as  he  saw  her  come  out  of  the  store,  though  s  Dine 
dozen  yards  distant,  lie  sung  out  to  the  footman  to  open  the 
door,  thus  saving  him  the  necessity  of  answering  the  question 
that  she  was  asking  at  the  instant.  He  instantly  came  up  and 
closed  the  carriage-door,  and  ordered  the  footman  to  his  place, 
whispering  to  him  so  loud  at  the  same  time  as  to  be  sure 
that  he  was  overheard,  that  they  had  capital  beer  round  the 
corner.  Then  he  asked  the  ladies  where  next ;  and,  as  or- 
dered, climbed  to  his  seat*  and  drove  home. 

As  soon  as  his  horses  were  stabled,  he  hied  away  to  a  quiet 
corner  where  no  one  could  see  him;  and,  drawing  forth  the 
letter  he  had  pretended  to  post,  he  broke  the  seal,  and  read 
as  follows :  — 

"Whoever  you  are,  I  must  see  you.  I  remember  that 
dreadful  night.  Who  are  you,  and  who  am  I?  My  maid 
only  is  true  to  me;  yet  Lord  Maccleton  has  feed  her  for  his 
service,  and  thinks  her  his  spy.  I  shall  send  her  every  week 
to  the  Holborn  office  to  inquire  for  a  letter  for  Rebecca  Pat- 
terson. Write  to  that  address,  and  I  shall  always  get  your 
letters." 

The  means  of  communication  were  now  established ;  but 
Joe  knew  too  well  the  character  of  Lord  Maccleton  to  ven- 
ture on  any  thing  at  present  that  could  more  than  excite 
suspicion.  He  knew  that  this  man,  whose  evil  genius  he  was, 
was  of  a  position  so  elevated,  and  of  a  character  so  honorable, 
that,  however  hideous  a  crime  he  might  commit,  he  would, 
with  ordinary  caution,  never  be  suspected.  More  than  forty 
years  before,  he  had  committed  a  great  crime,  which,  though 
he  might  have  regretted,  he  had  never  repented.  Through 
all  these  long  years,  he  had  steeled  himself  to  a  callous  disre- 
gard of  that  vengeance  which  pursues  the  wicked ;  and  Joe 
Pumpagin  knew  too  well  the  danger  to  Lady  Beresford,  if 
Lord  Maccleton  was  not  first  made  to  understand  that  there 
were  others  than  herself  possessing  his  dreadful  secret,  and 
that  there  was  an  unseen  avenging  hand  that  he  could  nei- 
ther reach  nor  stay.  He  knew,  therefore,  that  he  must  exer- 
cise great  caution  and  circumspection. 

But,  first  of  all,  it  was  necessary  to  have  an  interview  with 
Lady  Beresford ;  and  it  was  his  next  effort  to  create  an  op- 
portunity. If  it  be  true  that  fortune  favors  the  brave,  it  is 
no  less  so  that  genius  controls  its  accidents.  Joe's  eyes  were 
open  to  take  advantage  of  any  occasion  that  should  favor  his 


20  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

design.  He  had  laid  aside,  as  far  as  possible,  his  character  as 
a  joker,  and  quoter  of  Shakspeare ;  and  sought  to  make  him- 
self master  of  the  establishment  of  Sir  Henderson  Strong- 
ham.  At  this  time,  Sir  Henderson  was  in  the  heyday  of  his 
prosperity.  He  was  the  head  of  one  of  the  largest  banking- 
houses  in  the  United  Kingdom ;  and,  for  the  two  reasons  of 
pride  and  policy,  he  entertained  munificently.  One  day  the 
orders  were  sent  to  the  kitchen,  that,  on  the  second  day  fol- 
lowing, a  dinner  was  to  be  prepared  of  a  most  sumptuous 
character.  Indeed,  it  was  to  be  a  dinner  fit  not  only  for 
a  lord,  but  for  lords,  dukes,  and  marquises.  Little  did  Joe 
care  for  the  high-sounding  names  that  reached  the  kitchen, 
and  impressed  the  other  servants  with  a  sense  of  awful  gran- 
deur and  responsibility.  But,  when  he  heard  that  among  the 
guests  were  to  be  two  American  gentlemen,  his  curiosity  was 
excited;  and  he  sought  out  the  head  servant  to  learn  their 
names.  The  major-domo  did  not  remember  the  name  of  one 
of  them;  but  the  other,  he  said,  was  Gomery,  or  Montgomery, 
he  was  not  sure  which.  Though  Joe  did  not  suppose  that 
the  possessor  of  this  name  was  any  connection  of  his  old 
friends  at  the  Pivot,  yet  the  familiar  sound  excited  his  curi- 
osity ;  and  he  was  as  anxious  to  get  a  sight  of  him  as  Morgi- 
ana  was  to  get  a  look  at  the  mysterious  oil-merchant  who 
would  eat  n<y  salt.  When  the  guests  began  to  arrive,  Joe 
contrived  to  place  himself  so  as  to  get  a  sight  of  them  all ; 
and  great  was  his  surprise  when  he  saw  his  old  friend  Theron 
Gomery,  now  a  fine-looking,  tall,  and  muscular  man,  descend 
from  a  carriage  at  Sir  Henderson's  door.  The  old  man  who 
came  with  him  he  did  not  recognize.  Joe  was  now  all 
excitement,  and  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  an 
unobserved  witness  at  the  dinner-table.  He  would  have 
resorted  to  his  usual  expedient  of  getting  one  of  the  table- 
servants  put  out  of  the  way  but  for  fear  of  being  recognized 
by  his  former  friend.  It  is  true,  more  than  a  dozen  years  had 
passed  since  they  had  last  seen  each  other,  and  the  younger 
of  the  two  had  greatly  changed  during  the  time ;  but  Joe 
had  not  changed  in  the  least  particular.  At  twenty-five  he 
might  have  been  taken  for  forty-five,  and  at  forty-five  he 
might  have  passed  for  sixty.  He  therefore  contented  him- 
self with  making  himself  agreeable  to  the  coachman  who  had 
driven  his  friend,  from  whom  he  learned  where  he  was  stay- 
ing, and  resolved  to  find  him  early  the  next  day. 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  21 

Accordingly,  the  next  morning,  at  about  nine  o'clock*  he 
made  his  way  to  that  part  of  the  city  where  Goraery  lodged, 
and  presented  himself  at  the  number  given  by  the  coach- 
man the  night  before. 

It  was  opened  by  a  tall  and  well-trained  flunkey,  who, 
seeing  a  man,  apparently  of  the  ordinary  walks  of  life,  before 
him,  stared  at  him  with  that  freezing  civility  which  said, 
without  words,  "What  the  devil  are  you  here  for?" 

"  Take  up  my  card  to  Mr.  Gomery,"  said  Joe. 

"Mr.  Gomery  is  at  breakfast,  and  can't  be  disturbed,"  re- 
plied the  flunkey. 

"  Take  up  my  card,  sir,  or  I  will  throw  you  into  the  street ! " 
said  Joe,  moving  towards  him,  and  crowding  inside  the  door, 
which  he  shut  behind  him. 

The  flunkey,  in  despair  and  dismay,  took  the  card,  and, 
glancing  his  eye  over  it,  saw  written  in  pencil,  "  Old  Joe." 
Then  he  looked  at  Joe ;  then  he  said, "  Isn't  there  a  mistake  ?" 
But  he  saw  at  a  glance  in  Joe's  eye  that  there  was  no  mis- 
take ;  and  casting  a  look  about  the  hall,  that  Joe  understood 
to  be  a  charge  of  theft  or  thieving  purpose,  he  glided  up 
stairs,  and  laid  the  card  on  the  table  by  the  side  of  Gomery, 
saying  apologetically,  "  The  man  made  me  bring  it  up,  sir." 

"Old  Joe!"  said  Gomery:  "Old  Joe!  who  is  he?  Old 
Joe !  by  the  living  hokey,  it  must  be  Old  Joe  Pumpagin  !  It 
is  he,  I  really  believe.  Show  him  up,  show  him  up!  quick, 
you  staring  blockhead!  show  him  up!" 

The  flunkey  departed ;  and  Gomery,  turning  to  the  old 
man,  who  was  unfolding  the  "Times,"  said,  "This  Old  Joe  is 
from  my  native  place.  He  was  the  Yorick  of  my  boyhood  ; 
'a  fellow  of  infinite  jest,  of  most  excellent  fancy.  He  hath 
borne  me  on  his  back  a  thousand  times.' " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Joe,  entering  the  room,  "  and  taught  you 
Shakspeare  into  the  bargain." 

The  greeting  he  received  was  so  frank  and  cordial,  that  the 
flunkey  was  utterly  dumfounded,  and  withdrew,  muttering 
to  himself  that  "these  Americans  were  a  werry  wulgar 
people." 

"  Uncle  Fogue,  this  is  my  old  friend,  Joe  Pumpagin,  that 
I  have  not  seen  before  for  a  dozen  years." 

Uncle  Fogue  bowed  with  aristocratic  punctilio,  and  went 
on  reading  his  paper. 

A  hurried  conversation  was  now  held  between  Theron 


22  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

and  Joe,  in  which  the  latter  said,  in  answer  to  a  question  as 
to  where  he  had  been,  and  what  he  had  seen  and  done,  during 
the  last  dozen  years,  that  it  would  take  a  big  book  to  contain 
all  his  adventures  in  that  time;  and  that  he  must  postpone 
his  narrative  to  a  more  convenient  season.  He  asked,  in 
return,  what  had  brought  Theron  to  England ;  and  the  latter 
answered,  that  it  was  business  of  great  importance.  "  Since 
I  last  saw  you  at  Montgomery,"  he  said,  "  I,  too,  have  had  quite 
an  eventful  life.  I  am  a  rich  man  now;  have  a  wife  and 
two  children ;  and  have  been  selected,  with  my  uncle  here 
(whom  you  have,  perhaps,  heard  us  talk  about  when  boys),  at 
a  council  of  capitalists  to  come  over  here,  and  have  an  inter- 
change of  views  on  the  financial  interests  of  the  two  coun- 
tries, more  especially  in  regard  to  the  political  necessity  and 
duty  of  concentrating  the  permanent  wealth  of  our  country 
in  the  hands  of  an  upper  class,  or  privileged  aristocracy,  and 
by  that  means  wielding  such  an  influence  as  to  direct  and 
control  the  policy  of  our  own  government,  as  it  is  controlled 
here,  for  the  benefit  of  the  higher  classes." 

"  You  have  very  different  ideas  to  what  your  father,  the 
old  squire,  had,"  said  Joe. 

"And  very  different  to  what  I  had  myself  when  I  was 
younger.  But  wealth  works  great  changes  in  the  ideas  of 
men.  When  we  get  property,  we  are  not  satisfied  with  its 
possession  and  enjoyment  during  our  own  lives  merely. 
How  much  more  satisfactory  to  feel  assured  that  our  children 
and  grandchildren  will  enjoy  it  after  us  !  And  then  what  a 
grand  thing  to  be  the  founder  of  a  noble  family !  Our  coun- 
try is  yet  young;  and  those  who  now  take  the  initiative  will 
be  known  in  history  as  the  oldest  and  most  honored  aristoc- 
racy." 

"Then  I  suppose,"  said  Joe,  "you  intend  to  be  a  lord ;  at 
least,  a  duke  or  marquis." 

"  If  we  can  effect  the  change,  I  shall  have  aspirations  of 
the  kind.  It  may  be  we  are  reckoning  our  chickens  before 
they  are  hatched;  but  Uncle  Fogue  and  I  have  been  consid 
ering  what  titles  we  will  take,  supposing  we  can  get  the  aris- 
tocratic principle  grafted  into  our  constitution  and  society.  It 
is  customary  in  this  country  to  take  a  title  corresponding  with 
the  name  of  the  section,  town,  or  county  where  the  family 
has  lived :  and  my  uncle  here  is  sorely  puzzled  what  title  to 
assume,  and  what  to  have  for  his  coat  of  arms;  for  he  says 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  23 

his  father,  when  he  married  his  mother,  had  no  coat  to  his 
arms.  As  for  me,  I  shall  seek  to  show  my  respect  for  the 
old  place  at  the  Pivot,  and  shall  take  the  first  name  of  the 
hill,  —  Gault,  Duke  of  Gault.  I  think  that  would  sound 
well;  and  then  my  oldest  son  can  be  known  during  my  time 
as  Lord  Gomery,  or  Marquis  of  Montgomery ;  and  of  course, 
after  me,  he  will  be  Duke  of  Gault." 

"  Perhaps  the  Gaults  may  have  something  to  say  on  that 
question,"  said  Joe. 

"  The  Gaults !     The  Gaults  are  all  dead  long  ago." 

"Perhaps  not.  But,  if  they  never  appear  to  claim  their 
own,  'tis  not  your  fault.  So  long  life  to  Lord  Gault !  and 
that  old  man  —  what  is  to  be  his  title  ?  " 

"  That  we  can't  agree  on  ;  but  his  family  crest  is  to  be  an 
oyster-shell,  as  his  father  made  his  fortune  in  the  oyster 
business.  But  we  will  talk  over  these  matters  at  another 
time.  I  have  an  engagement  now ;  and,  at  three  o'clock  this 
afternoon,  Mr.  Fogue  and  myself  are  to  meet  a  number  of 
the  heaviest  bankers  and  capitalists  in  England,  when  mat- 
ters of  the  greatest  financial  and  political  importance  are  to 
be  discussed.  So  come  and  see  me  again  to-morrow  morn- 
ing early." 

"  You  would  not  suspect  it,"  said  Joe ;  "  but  the  fact  is,  I 
have  some  little  business  with  the  aristocracy,  as  well  as 
yourself,  just  now;  and,  not  to  go  any  farther,  I  am  even 
now  serving  as  a  menial  in  the  house  of  Sir  Henderson 
Strongham,  and  it  was  thus  that  I  learned  of  your  being 
here.  I  am  acting  a  part,  and  in  a  character,  that  no  man 
living,  save  myself  and  your  honored  father,  has  any  knowl- 
edge of.  I,  as  well  as  yourself,  have  been  favored  by  fortune 
in  getting  money ;  and  it  is  not  for  wages  that  I  am  in  Sir 
Henderson's  service.  But  it  would  serve  my  purpose  far  bet- 
ter if  you  would,  during  your  residence  in  London,  make  me 
your  head  servant,  or  major-domo.  I  know  London  well, 
and  have  learned  something  of  the  fashionable  ways,  and  can 
serve  you  well  at  the  same  fhne  I  serve  myself." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  would  have  above  all  things,"  said 
Theron;  "and  I  will  give  orders  this  instant  that  you  are  to 
have  unlimited  authority,  and  that  whatever  you  say  or 
order  is  to  be  taken  as  coming  from  myself." 

Gomery  here  touched  the  bell,  which  brought  Mr.  Flunk 
to  the  door.    "  Mr.  Flunk,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Pumpagin  is  to  be 


24  GOMERT   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

my  steward  or  head  man.  What  he  says,  I  say ;  what  he 
orders,  I  order ;  what  he  w^ants,  I  wTant.  Do  you  understand, 
Mr.  Flunk?" 

"Shall  be  wery  'appy  to  serve  the  genTman  ;  but  'opes  'e 
'as  took  no  hoffence  for  not  taking  hup  'is  card." 

"You  do  great  credit  to  your  class  and  education,  Mr. 
Flunk.  You  combine  perfectly  that  insolence  and  sycophan- 
cy essential  to  an  English  servant.  See,  now,  that  my  friend 
has  every  respect  shown  him." 

"  Of  course,  I  respects  my  betters,"  said  the  flunkey,  as  he 
withdrew  from  an  interview  apparently  not  to  his  taste. 

"  And  that  is  the  style  of  abject  creature  to  which  you 
would  reduce  free  and  enlightened  Americans,  is  it?"  said 
Joe.  "If  the  old  squire  were  to  overhear  you,  and  know 
what  you  were  about,  he  would  disown  you.  In  fact,  I  am 
ashamed  of  you  myself." 

"  Ah,  well !  you  will  think  better  of  it  after  I  have  talked 
with  you  again." 

"I  will  be  back  here  this  evening,"  said  Joe;  "and  then 
we  will,  over  a  mug  of  flip,  talk  not  only  of  this,  but  of 
many  other  things.     So  good-by  till  then." 

Joe  left  the  house;  and,  returning  to  Sir  Henderson's,  he 
announced  that  unforeseen  events  required  him  to  leave, 
even  though  he  forfeited  a  quarter's  wages.  When  asked  if 
the  police  were  after  him,  he  winked  mysteriously,  and  begged 
them  to  say  nothing.  The  steward  paid  him  off, glad  to 
escape  the  scandal  of  having  a  jail-bird  found  on  the  prem- 
ises.   The  evening  found  him  domiciled  with  his  old  friend. 


' 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  25 


CHAPTER    m. 

"  So  wills  the  fierce,  avenging  sprite, 
Till  blood  for  blood  atones : 
Ay,  though  he's  buried  in  a  cave, 
And  trodden  down  with  stones, 
And  years  have  rotted  off'  his  flesh, 
The  world  shall  have  his  bones  1  "—Thomas  Hood. 

That  afternoon,  the  meeting  of  capitalists,  of  which  Theron 
had  spoken  to  Joe,  took  place  in  one  of  those  Downing-street 
bank  parlors  where  such  magnates  were  wont  to  assemble  in 
force  when  any  important  affairs  requiring  combination  and 
accord  of  action  were  to  be  considered.  On  this  occasion,  a 
subject  was  to  be  discussed  that  had  engaged  the  attention 
of  the  rich  and  conservative  classes  for  a  long  time.  A  dan- 
ger to  their  influence  and  position  had  been  descried  in  the 
political  firmament ;  and  this  meeting  was  to  be  an  initiatory 
effort  to  organize  the  means  to  avert  it.  To  render  it  at  all 
effective,  it  was  necessary  to  enlist  the  active  rather  than  the 
dormant  wealth  of  the  country,  as  it  is  well  known  that  the 
real  men  of  power  in  England  are  those  who  can  influence 
the  floating  capital  that  lubricates  the  wheels  of  commerce. 
The  landed  business-despising  aristocracy  may  combine  and 
knock  their  heads  together  till  the  little  brains  they  have  in 
them  are  addled ;  but  without  the  aid  and  practical  support 
of  the  parvenu  commoners,  whom  they  tolerate,  fear,  and  de- 
spise, they  can  accomplish  nothing,  and  they  know  it.  Though 
on  this  occasion  it  was  felt  to  be  so  essential  to  combine  the 
floating  and  uninvested  capital  of  the  country,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  omit  from  its  invited  participants  the  most  important 
of  all.  One  firm,  or  rather  one  family,  that  wielded  more 
of  the  active  capital  of  Europe  than  any  other,  and  proba- 
bly more  than  all  who  would  meet  on  this  occasion,  must  be 
left  out ;  for  it  had  a  policy  very  different  and  distinct  from 
that  of  the  Established-Church  aristocracy.  This  firm  still 
bore  the  curse  of  their  ancestors,  who  had  invoked  the  blo*d 

VOL.  II.  3 


26  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY: 

of  the  Son  of  man  on  them  and  their  children.  They  could 
not  be  expected  to  sympathize  with  a  movement  that  was 
intended  to  strengthen  and  perpetuate  a  form  of  religion  that 
disfranchised  them,  and  were  wisely  left  out. 

But,  though  this  was  to  be  a  meeting  of  those  men  who 
had  an  active  and  palpable  influence,  it  was  felt  indispensable 
that  a  certain  number  of  the  landed,  established  aristocracy 
should  give  it  their  countenance  and  support.  A  sufficient 
number  of  that  class  accordingly  were  present,  however,  to 
give  assurance,  that,  generally  they  would  heartily  co-operate 
in  the  movement.  The  attendance  of  the  Duke  of  Manny- 
fields  was  therefore  secured,  as  he  was  of  such  vast  wealth, 
and  had  such  immense  landed  interest,  that  his  bare  name,  it 
was  thought,  would  insure  the  concurrence  of  the  entire 
landed  aristocracy.  His  presence  was  desired,  rather  to 
mark  the  character  of  the  meeting  than  to  profit  by  his 
muddy  suggestions.  He  was  accordingly  made  chairman  of 
the  select  meeting.  In  accepting  the  chair,  he  would  be  ex- 
pected to  make  a  few  remarks  on  the  subject  that  had  called 
them  together.  His  speech  was  both  worthy  of  the  man  and 
the  class  to  which  he  belonged.  He  said,  "In  accepting  the 
honor  conferred  upon  me  by  the  distinguished  gentlemen 
who  compose  this  meeting,  I  feel  that  I  should  do  injustice 
to  my  own  feelings  if  I  did  not  express  my  sincere  thanks. 
I  cordially  concur  in  the  object  of  this  meeting.  The  subject 
which  it  is  proposed  to  consider  is  one  to  which  my  attention 
has  long  been  directed.  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  dangers 
which  threaten,  and  which  it  is  the  object  of  this  meeting  to 
take  measures  to  avert.  It  is  known  to  us  all  that  the  people 
across  the  water  have  enjoyed  a  kind  of  general  prosperity 
that  threatens  the  safety  and  perpetuity  of  our  rights  and 
privileges.  Indeed,  I  may  say,  the  very  throne,  now  occu- 
pied by  a  prince  of  such  transcendent  talents,  of  such  exalted 
virtues,  such  lofty  character,  as  to  be  known  and  acknowl- 
edged as  the  'first  gentleman  in  Europe,'  —  the  very  throne, 
I  say,  is  in  danger.  Under  the  system  of  universal  suffrage,  a 
great  nation  is  growing  up  in  ignorance  of  the  first  principles 
of  government.  Here,  where  the  voters  are  few,  we  can,  by 
a  judicious  use  of  our  wealth  and  influence,  always  maintain 
our  rights  and  privileges ;  and,  on  all  important  questions, 
we  can  have  the  Commons  with  us.  ..  But  to  buy  up  a  whole 
people,  to  have  the  entire  power  of  the  government  in  the 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  27 

hands  of  the  wealthy  and  the  noble,  when  every  man  has  a 
voice  in  the  matter,  is  preposterous.  Hence  there  is  no  privi- 
leged class  there,  no  aristocracy,  no  immunity  of  noble  fami- 
lies, and  few  of  the  advantages  of  wealth  as  enjoyed  by  us. 
And  the  worst  feature  of  the  whole  is,  that  the  people  there 
have  no  idea  of  their  deplorable  condition.  They  are  so  igno- 
rant as  to  think  that  they  are  as  well  off  as  though  they  had 
a  nobility  of  blood  to  direct  them  and  shape  their  policy. 
They  are  so  lost  to  a  sense  of  shame,  that  they  even  glory  in 
their  self-made  men.  They  boast  of  their  increase  in  wealth 
and  power,  and  contrast  their  plenty  and  comfort  with  that 
of  the  English  people ;  as  if  the  common  people  had  any  thing 
to  do  with  the  laws  except  to  obey  them,  or  as  if  their  hap- 
piness and  well-being  were  a  compensation  or  offset  for  the 
lack  of  a  nobility  of  blood.  But,  were  the  evil  confined  to 
their  own  country,  we  might  leave  them  to  their  own  follies. 
That,  however,  is  not  the  case.  First,  their  evil  example 
reached  France ;  and  we  all  know  what  horrors  were  com- 
mitted under  the  ideas  of  liberty  and  equality.  And  yet,  in 
spite  of  that  fearful  havoc,  we  find  the  dangerous  contagion 
of  ideas  has  spread  into  this  country ;  and  we  have  our 
home  demagogues  preaching  discontent  to  our  working 
classes,  and  commending  American  examples  to  them.  Al- 
ready we  hear  the  mad  clamor  that  suffrage  must  be  extend- 
ed, and  are  told  by  low  reformers  that  the  corn-laws  must 
be  changed,  and  the  duties  lowered  or  abolished.  These 
monstrous  innovations  are  only  equalled  by  each  other  in 
daring  atrocity.  If  the  suffrage  is  extended,  how,  then,  are 
we  to  control  the  votes  ?  To  coerce  and  buy  up  a  few  dozen 
men  is  easy,  but  to  dictate  to  as  many  thousands  is  too  much 
for  any  man's  rent-roll ;  and  the  proposed  repeal  of  the  corn- 
laws  is  a  direct  blow  aimed  at  the  rights  and  privileges  of 
the  aristocracy.  Are  not  the  peers  nearly  all  large  land- 
owners ?  and  if  our  ports  are  to  be  thrown  open  to  foreign 
corn,  so  that  we  can  no  longer  have  the  monopoly  of  our 
own  market,  how  are  we  to  maintain  our  position?  And 
they  have  even  the^  audacity  to  commend  this  measure  for 
the  reason  that  it  will  benefit  the  poor.  Has  it  come  to  this, 
then,  that  the  interests  of  the  nobility  are  to  give  way  that  a 
hungry  crowd  may  be  fed  ?  My  friends,  it  is  time  to  take 
action  in  England,  in  order  to  break  up  the  nest  of  political 
error  in  America ;  and,  for  one,  I  am  glad  that  our  friends 


28  GOMERY   OP  MONTGOMERY: 

across  the  water  have  been  induced  to  come  over  here  and  co- 
operate in  this  work  of  general  patriotism  and  international 
philanthropy  We  give  them  a  cordial  welcome,  and  trust 
that  we  shall  have  their  views  fully  expressed  on  this  occa- 
sion." 

This  speech  was  followed  by  another,  of  similar  import, 
delivered  by  Sir  Prosper  Neerstickle,  who,  on  concluding, 
expressed  a  hope  that  the  distinguished  American  financier 
then  present  would  favor  the  meeting  with  his  views. 

Mr.  Fogue,  taking  the  invitation  to  himself,  arose,  and  said 
that  he  was  deeply  impressed  with  the  correctness  of  the 
views  advanced  by  his  honorable  friends,  and  fully  concurred 
in  all  they  had  said.  "  For  myself,"  he  continued,  "  I  have 
long  felt  that  wealth  does  not  secure  to  its  possessor  in  my 
country  the  advantages  to  which  he  is  justly  entitled.  It 
will  buy  him  houses  and  lands  and  luxuries  ;  but  that  is  all. 
We  have  no  hold  on  our  possessions  only  so  long  as  we 
manage  them  well.  A  vast  estate,  accumulated  by  one  gen- 
eration, is  very  apt  to  be  squandered  by  the  next.  Instead 
of  being  hedged  around  and  protected  by  the  laws  for  the 
ennobling  of  a  single  family,  it  goes  to  increase  the  small 
estates  of  the  ignoble  multitude.  Thus,  though  I  count  my 
gains  by  millions,  what  does  it  amount  to  ?  When  I  am 
gone,  I  may  be  pretty  sure  that  they  will  all  soon  follow.  I 
can  have  no  hope  of  founding  a  family  that  hundreds  of 
years  hence  shall  be  reckoned  among  the  old  nobility.  In- 
stead of  retaining  in  my  name  the  broad  acres  that  are  now 
mine,  and  which  ought  to  be  adorned  with  halls  and  parks 
and  pleasure-grounds,  they  will  be  cut  up  into  small  farms ; 
and  communities  of  small  farmers  and  busy  mechanics  will 
usurp  the  soil  which  ought  to  be  reserved  for  the  nobler 
purposes  of  supporting  game,  and  yielding  health,  exercise, 
and  pleasure  to  an  enlightened  and  refined  aristocracy." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  eloquent  period,  the  chairman 
said,  "Hear,  hear;"  and  of  course  the  rest  of  the  company 
joined  in  rapturous  applause.  "  But  this  is  not  all,"  contin- 
ued the  gratified  Fogue  :  "  even  in  my  own  time,  I  have  no 
more  power  in  the  government  than  my  servant  who  drives 
my  horses.  He  votes  as  well  as  I,  and  his  vote  counts  for  as 
much  as  mine.  In  fact,  the  man  of  wealth  in  the  free  States 
of  America  is  the  most  unfortunate  man  living :  he  is  really 
to  be  pitied.   With  our  Southern  brethren,  the  case  is  differ- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  29 

ent :  there  the  rich  man  owns  his  laborers,  and  his  condition 
is  similar  to  that  of  the  landholders  here.  Though  the  poor 
man  there  can  vote,  yet  the  rich  planter  has  such  power,  by- 
reason  of  his  numerous  dependants  and  connections,  that  he 
can  easily  render  the  atmosphere  unwholesome;  and  the  poor 
man  there  becomes  a  political  nonentity.  As  for  the  slave, 
he  is  like  the  most  of  your  non-freeholders :  he  works,  and 
that  is  his  only  privilege.  The  law  is  made  to  protect  him, 
it  is  true  ;  but  the  law  is  read  only  through  the  planter's 
spectacles  :  as,  for  instance,  my  honorable  friend,  the  chair- 
man of  this  meeting,  has,  I  presume,  the  administration  of 
the  laws  on  his  own  estates  pretty  much  his  own  way.  And 
that  is  right ;  that  is  as  it  should  be.  There  is  too  much  of 
mawkish  and  mock  sentimentality  in  these  degenerate  days. 
The  rich  and  the  powerful  should  be  respected  and  privi- 
leged as  in  the  olden  time.  The  case  of  Uriah  the  Hittite 
is  an  illustration  given  for  our  instruction  to  show  that  the 
sins  of  the  rich  and  powerful  shall  not  be  visited  against 
them :  and  from  that  day  to  this  David  is  honored  exceed- 
ingly ;  but  who  ever  speaks  well  of  Uriah  the  Hittite  ?  " 

These  pious  words  were  warmly  commended  by  the  com- 
pany ;  and,  when  Mr.  Thomas  Fogue  took  his  seat,  it  was 
remarked  by  several  that  his  speech  was  the  most  states- 
manlike and  comprehensive  ever  made  by  an  American.  Sir 
Philpot  Puncheon,  a  man  whose  father  had  begun  life  as  a 
tapster,  and  ended  it  as  the  richest  brewer  in  the  world,  fol- 
lowed Mr.  Fogue,  and  said  he  had  been  a  close  observer  of 
affairs  across  the  Atlantic  for  many  years ;  and  the  remarks 
of  his  distinguished  friend  who  had  just  sat  down,  in  relation 
to  the  advantages  enjoyed  by  the  people  of  the  Southern 
States  over  their  Northern  brethren  by  reason  of  their  more 
conservative  institutions,  had  struck  him  as  eminently  just 
and  true.  "  It  is,"  he  continued,  "  the  policy  of  the  people 
of  established  wealth  in  England  to  cultivate  more  intimate 
relations  with  the  only  class  in  America  that  has  in  it  any 
of  the  exclusive  or  aristocratic  element.  The  interests  of 
wealth  are  closely  linked  the  world  over ;  and  it  only  re- 
quires an  international  exchange  of  ideas,  among  those  who 
control  the  capital  of  the  world,  to  be  able  to  influence,  if 
not  direct,  the  policy  of  the  governments  of  the  earth.  The 
great  danger  now  is  that  the  democratic  idea  should  com- 
mend itself  to  the  rest  of  the  world  by  reason  of  the  pros- 
8* 


30  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

perity  of  the  working-men  of  the  United  States.  There 
must  be  a  grand  combination  to  throw  the  government  into 
the  hands  of  the  rich  and  conservative ;  and  we  must  aid  in 
this  good  work.  The  great  central,  moneyed  institutions 
must  be  sustained,  that,  being  owned  and  controlled  by  the 
rich,  they  can  wield  a  power  adequate  at  all  times  to  defeat 
any  obnoxious  party  or  interest." 

Several  other  short  speeches  were  made ;  and  the  discus- 
sion gradually  passed  into  a  sort  of  free-and-easy  conference, 
and  finally  became  a  miscellaneous,  unorganized  meeting.  It 
was  decided  that  a  committee  should  be  raised,  with  full 
power  to  act  executively  in  carrying  out  the  views  that  had 
been  expressed  at  the  meeting.  Sir  Henderson  Strongham 
was  put  at  the  head  of  this  committee,  and  Sir  Philpot  Pun- 
cheon was  made  secretary.  It  was  understood  and  agreed 
that  the  proceedings  should  not  be  published  in  the  news- 
papers, but  that  the  different  persons  present  should  talk  of 
the  matters  discussed  in  the  various  circles  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. That  evening,  over  a  mug  of  flip  prepared  by  Joe, 
Theron  Gomery  and  his  uncle  Fogue  recapitulated  the  inci- 
dents of  the  day;  their  conversation  being  enlivened  by  the 
interruptions  and  sallies  of  Joe,  who  could  not  forbear  ex- 
pressing his  views  and  quoting  Shakspeare  as  opportunity 
offered. 

The  next  day,  Joe  overheard  a  conversation  which  led  him 
to  suppose  that  his  services  would  not  be  in  requisition  that 
day  or  the  next.  It  appeared  that  Gomery  and  Fogue,  Sir 
Philpot  Puncheon  and  Sir  Henderson  Strongham,  were  to 
leave  London  that  afternoon,  in  order  to  visit  the  nearest 
castle  and  country  estate  of  the  Duke  of  Mannyfields.  Not 
only,  therefore,  would  Joe  himself  be  disengaged,  but  the 
carriage  and  horses  that  Fogue  and  Gomery  had  hired  dur- 
ing their  stay  in  England  would  be  at  his  individual  service. 
His  plans  were  accordingly  taken  with  characteristic  celerity. 
He  immediately  wrote  a  note  to  the  address  of  Rebecca  Pat- 
terson, and  posted  it.  In  that  letter  he  said,  that,  at  twelve 
the  next  day,  a  carriage  would  call  at  Sir  Henderson's  for 
Lady  Beresford ;  and,  if  she  would  venture  to  trust  herself 
to  it,  she  would  be  taken  to  a  place  where  she  could  learn  all 
that  any  living  soul  knew  of  her  early  life  and  history.  At 
sharp  twelve,  the  carriage  would  be  in  attendance ;  and  she 
would  know  which  was  intended  for  her,  if  there  chanced 


A  FAMILY  HISTORY.  31 

to  be  more  than  one,  as  it  would  be  driven  by  a  stout,  pug- 
nosed  coachman,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of  heavy  black  horses. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  the  carriage  was  in  attendance ;  and 
Lady  Beresford  was  prompt  to  meet  it.  Lady  Strongham, 
when  she  saw  her  niece  going  out  with  her  maid,  objected 
to  her  leaving  the  house,  in  her  feeble  state  of  health,  unac- 
companied by  herself,  saying  that  Lord  Maccleton  had  ex- 
pressly forbidden  it.  "  I  am  no  more  his  slave  than  I  am  his 
child!"  answered  Lady  Beresford  with  a  vehemence  that 
quite  silenced  the  opposition  of  her  officious  aunt. 

No  sooner  had  she  entered  the  carriage  than  Joe  drove 
hurriedly  away,  taking  various  by-ways,  cross-streets,  and 
sudden  turns;  going  at  a  brisk  gait,  so  as  to  render  any 
attempt  to  follow  him,  if  it  were  made,  unsuccessful. 

In  less  than  an  hour,  he  stopped  in  a  very  respectable 
street,  and  before  a  house  of  considerable  pretensions; 
though,  in  one  of  the  windows,  a  card,  with  the  words, 
"Apartments  to  let,"  was  displayed.  In  front  of  the  house 
had  been  standing,  for  the  last  half-hour,  a  young  man, 
apparently  watching  and  waiting  for  some  one.  No  sooner 
had  Joe  driven  up  to  the  door,  and  shown  Lady  Beresford 
and  her  maid  into  the  house,  than  this  youth  mounted  in 
Joe's  place,  and  was  told  by  him  to  drive  away,  and  return  in 
just  two  hours.  Joe  then  followed  Lady  Beresford  into  the 
house ;  and  was  shown  by  the  landlady  into  the  same  room 
that  he  had  engaged  the  day  before,  and  into  which  Lady 
Beresford  had  preceded  him. 

As  Joe  entered  the  room,  and  closed  the  door  after  him, 
Lady  Beresford,  who  had  not  taken  a  seat,  turned  upon  him, 
and  asked  abruptly,  "  Whom  am  I  to  meet  here  ?  " 

"  Me,  madam,"  answered  Joe. 

"  Did  you  send  me  the  letter  signed  '  Joseph  Porter '  ?  "  said 
she  with  a  look  of  incredulity,  disappointment,  and  surprise. 

"I  did,"  said  Joe. 

"And  do  you  know  as  much  as  you  intimate  about  me 
and  my  early  days  ?  " 

"  More  than  I  have  ever  intimated.  I  know  more  of  you," 
said  he,  taking  a  seat,  though  uninvited,  and  while  the  lady 
was  yet  standing, —  "  I  know  more  of  you  and  your  history 
than  all  other  living  persons." 

Lady  Beresford,  still  standing,  but  with  her  right  arm  on 
the  shoulder  of  her  maid,  and  looking  pale,  agitated,  and  anx- 


32  G0MERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

ious,  said,  "  Whoever  you  are,  do  not  trifle  with  me :  my  agony 
already  is  greater  than  I  can  bear.  There  is,  I  know  there 
is,  something  dreadful  for  me  to  learn ;  and  for  years,  since  I 
received  a  mysterious  letter  describing  and  recalling  events 
of  my  childhood  that  I  had  a  feint  recollection  of,  but  knew 
not  whether  they  were  real  or  the  creations  of  a  distempered 
fancy,  I  have  not  known  an  hour  of  peace  or  rest ;  and 
never  shall  till  the  mystery  is  cleared  up,  and  I  know  more 
of  myself  and  my  history." 

"  Woman,"  said  Joe. 

The  sound  of  this  word,  pronounced  in  a  familiar  and 
yet  a  mandatory  tone  by  one  who  appeared  to  be  but  a 
menial,  caused  Lady  Beresford  to  start  as  if  touched  by  a 
repulsive  object.  But,  quickly  recovering  herself,  she  sank 
into  a  seat,  and  said,  "  I  know  not  who  you  are  ;  but  I  beg 
you  to  bear  in  mind  that  I  am  not  accustomed  to  be  addressed 
in  that  manner,  at  least  by  servants." 

"  Woman,"  said  Joe,  leaning  forward,  and  looking  her  full 
and  sternly  in  the  face,  — "  woman,  I  am  of  as  good  blood 
as  you  are. 

"  You,  a  servant,  as  good  blood  as  the  Cumberlands ! " 

"  As  good  blood  as  you  are ;  and  better,  I  trust,  than  the 
Cumberlands." 

"  What  mean  you  by  that  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  an  im- 
postor. You  claim  to  have  blood  like  mine ! "  And  the  wo- 
man  turned  away  from  the  coachman  with  an  air  in  which 
disgust  and  pride  struggled,  with  a  desperate  will,  to  achieve 
a  purpose. 

"Woman,"  said  Joe,  still  leaning  forward,  and  looking 
sternly  at  her,  "fear  not  that  any  disclosure  that  I  shall 
make  will  discover  any  taint  in  your  blood ;  for  you  are  of  as 
pure  blood  as  flows  in  human  veins,  and  yet  not  better  than 
mine.  And  here,  on  this  occasion,  I  must  speak  to  you  as  an 
equal;  and,  if  you  will  listen  to  me,  you  shall  hear  a  tale  at 
which  your  pure  blood  shall  curdle  in  your  veins,  and  all  you 
have  most  prized  in  life  you  shall  view  with  horror  and 
abhorrence." 

"Go  on,  sir!" 

"  Madam,  this  young  woman  must  first  leave  the  room, 
since  no  two  living  souls  are  concerned,  like  you  and  me,  to 
know  the  awful  secret." 

The  proud  woman  waved  her  hand  to  her  maid  to  with- 


A    FAMILY   HISTORY.  33 

draw ;  and  the  latter  left  the  room,  casting  back  a  look  that 
plainly  said  she  would  continue  within  call. 

No  sooner  had  the  waiting-woman  left  than  Joe  took  off 
his  overcoat,  and  laid  it  on  a  chair,  and  then,  resuming  his 
seat,  said,  "  Madam,  it  is  a  long  story  I  have  to  tell ;  and  you 
would  do  well  to  lay  aside  your  bonnet  and  shawl." 

"  I  do  not  want  advice :  I  want  your  story." 

"You  shall  have  it,  and  at  its  conclusion  will  be  ready  to 
take  my  advice.  But  first  permit  me  to  ask  you  a  question : 
How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  are  curious  on  that  point,  you  can  consult  the 
parish  register,"  replied  she,  scarcely  able  to  control  herself, 
and  showing  that  she  felt  her  dignity  insulted  at  the  ques- 
tion. 

"I  should  not  find  it  there,"  said  Joe:  "and  perhaps  I 
ought  not  to  have  asked  the  question ;  for  I  know  your  age, 
though  you  don't." 

"I  want  no  more  of  this,  sir!"  said  she,  breathing  quickly, 
while  the  blood  left  her  face,  and  a  rigid  pallor  overspread  her 
countenance.  "  Tell  me  what  you  have  to  say,  and  let  there 
be  an  end  of  this  business." 

"  Lady  Beresford,  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know ;  and,  if  you 
will  listen,  you  shall  hear  enough." 

The  lady  composed  herself,  sitting  upright  on  the  sofa, 
and,  with  an  air  of  mixed  anxiety  and  disdain,  awaited  Joe's 
disclosure. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  he, "  that  I  was  born  in  the  forests 
of  New  England.  My  parents  were  pioneer  settlers  in  the 
wilderness ;  and  my  first  recollection  is  of  a  log-house  in  a 
clearing,  on  the  side  of  a  high  hill  that  commanded  a  fine 
view  of  the  country  for  a  great  distance  round  about.  I  re- 
member my  father  and  mother  well.  My  father  was  a  large 
and  powerful  man ;  and  my  mother,  as  I  recollect  her,  was  a 
beautiful  woman." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am  particularly  interested  in  your 
father  and  mother,"  said  Lady  Beresford. 

"We  will  see  how  that  is,"  said  Joe.  "I  was  just  going 
to  remark,  that,  as  I  remember  her,  she  looked  very  much 
like  your  ladyship.  At  any  rate,  her  memory  is  beautiful, 
and  I  loved  her  very  much.  When  I  was  about  four  years 
old,  I  had  a  sister  born  ;  and  as  my  mother  had  many  cares 
in  her  forest  life,  and  I  had  got  to  be  a  big  boy,  it  was  my 


34  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

great  pleasure  to  play  with  my  little. sister,  and  take  care  of 
her,  so  that  my  mother  could  attend  to  her  household  duties, 
get  the  dinners  and  suppers  for  my  father  when  he  was  at 
work  in  the  clearing,  make  and  mend  his  clothes,  and  make 
happy  the  humble  house  in  the  forest.  When  my  father  had 
finished  his  work  for  the  day,  he  always  found  welcome  and 
anxious  eyes  watching  his  return  ;  yet  tired  as  he  was,  and 
hard  as  he  worked,  he  never  was  too  tired  to  have  a  frolic  with 
his  children  on  the  floor,  or  to  carry  me  on  all-fours  about 
the  room.  We  were  all  very  happy  then  ;  and,  as  I  grew 
older  and  stronger,  my  baby  sister  grew  prettier,  until  she 
was  large  enough  and  old  enough  to  walk  alone ;  and  then  I 
used  to  take  her  out  with  me  into  the  fields  where  my  father 
was  at  work.  The  country  was  then  almost  an  unbroken 
forest,  and  there  were  no  neighbors  within  several  miles  of 
our  small  log-house.  It  was  a  long  time  ago,  and  during  the 
first  war  with  England  (what  we  call  the  Revolution)  ;  and 
as  the  trees  were  newly  felled,  and  the  fields  were  yet  full  of 
stumps,  and  many  of  the  fallen  logs  were  but  partially  burnt, 
we  seldom  went  far  from  the  house.  But,  one  afternoon,  I 
took  my  little  sister  (her  name  was  Judith),  and  led  her  out 
to  where  we  thought  our  father  was  at  work ;  but,  not  find- 
ing him,  we  wandered  on  over  a  piece  of  lately  felled  trees, 
when  suddenly  we  were  startled  by  the  appearance  of  a 
huge  black  bear,  which  was  moving  lazily  and  awkwardly 
along  over  the  fallen  trees  towards  a  piece  of  Indian  corn 
that  was  just  then  in  the  ear.  The  bear  saw  us,  and,  after 
looking  at  us  a  moment,  turned  away  his  head,  and  pursued 
his  way  towards  the  field  of  corn.  But,  though  he  paid  no 
further  attention  to  us,  I  was,  nevertheless,  very  much  fright- 
ened, and  caught  my  little  sister  in  my  arms,  and  tied 
towards  the  house;  and  in  my  haste  I  stumbled  and  fell, 
throwing  my  sister  on  the  ground  in  front  of  me,  and  falling 
forward  with  my  full  weight,  and  striking  my  nose  against 
a  root,  breaking  in  the  bridge,  and  rendering  me  senseless. 
The  noise  we  made  had  been  heard  by  our  father,  who  came 
running  towards  us.  My  sister  he  threw  on  his  back,  and 
she  clung  to  his  neck  like  a  scared  lobster;  and  me  he  bore  in 
his  arms  to  the  house.  My  nose  was  broken,  my  face  much 
disfigured,  and  my  parents  were  greatly  alarmed  about  me. 
The  wound  was  a  serious  one :  my  face  soon  swelled  out  of 
proportion,  and  there  was  no  doctor  to  apply  to  within  many 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  35 

miles.  But  there  was  no  time  to  delay.  My  head  was 
bound  up  with  cooling  herbs ;  and  my  father,  mounting  his 
stout  old  nag,  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  we  were  soon  clat- 
tering down  the  hillside,  along  the  path  or  trail  that  had  been 
made  long  before  by  the  Indians.  It  was  a  ride  of  thirty 
miles  before  we  reached  the  doctor's  house.  My  father  had 
not  spared  the  horse ;  and  we  arrived  there  the  same  evening 
of  the  accident*  The  doctor  examined  my  wound,  and 
dressed  it  carefully,  but  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  broken 
bridge  of  the  nose  could  never  be  restored  to  its  former 
shape,  and  that  I  must  always  be  disfigured.  The  next 
morning  he  examined  me  again,  and  advised  my  father  to  go 
no  farther;  for  no  surgeon  could  bring  my  disfigured  probos- 
cis into  shape.  My  father  would  not  listen  to  any  such  idea ; 
and  so,  early  in  the  morning,  he  set  forth  with  me  again,  tak- 
ing me  in  his  arms,  for  his  native  town,  thirty  miles  farther, 
where  lived  a  surgeon  of  great  local  celebrity.  We  reached 
there  the  same  night ;  and  the  opinion  of  this  doctor  was 
the  same  as  the  other's,  that  my  nose  could  never  be  restored 
to  its  original  shape,  and  that  the  long  ride  had  done  me  a 
great  injury.  The  wound,  by  that  time,  had  become  very 
much  inflamed ;  and  the  doctor  told  my  father,  that,  in  his 
anxiety  to  save  my  nose,  he  had  endangered  my  life.  He 
said  I  must  have  quiet  and  gentle  nursing,  or  I  would  surely 
die.  The  town  where  the  doctor  lived,  as  I  said,  was  my 
father's  native  place,  and  he  had  a  married  sister  living  there  ; 
and  I  was  carried  to  her  house,  where  I  was  treated  as  ten- 
derly as  if  I  had  been  her  own  child.  Here,  under  the  treat- 
ment of  the  doctor  and  the  loving  gentleness  of  my  aunt,  I 
was  soon  out  of  danger ;  and  my  father  departed  for  home, 
leaving  me  to  get  well,  and  remain  through  the  winter  with 
my  aunt,  and,  when  recovered,  to  attend  the  village  school. 
I  never  saw  my  father  again." 

During  this  narrative,  Lady  Beresford  scarcely  looked  at 
Joe;  but,  as  he  stopped  here,  she  turned  towards  him,  and 
saw  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  which  he  was  vainly  endeavoring 
to  repress.  "  I  don't  see,"  said  she,  "  why  you  should  tell 
this  long  story  to  me.  It  does  not  concern  me,  as  I  can  see. 
If  you  have  any  thing  to  say  that  affects  me,  I  wish  you  to 
say  it.  I  came  here  for  that  purpose,  and  not  to  hear  your 
lachrymose  story  of  your  father  and  mother.  What  are  they 
tome?" 


36  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

"  Patience  a  few  moments,  and  you  shall  know,"  said  Joe. 
"Allow  me  to  continue.  During  the  winter  succeeding  my 
arrival  at  my  kind  aunt's,  she  told  me  that  she  intended  al- 
ways to  keep  me,  and  that  I  must  consider  myself  her  boy. 
I  felt  that  something  very  bad  had  happened ;  for  she  could 
not  talk  to  me  without  crying.  A  great  many  of  the  neigh- 
bors came  to  visit  the  family  then,  and  they  all  looked  very 
sad  ;  and  they  always  used  to  talk  in  whispers  to  my  uncle 
and  aunt,  so  that  I  should  not  hear  wha^  was  said.  They  al- 
ways looked  at  me  a  great  deal,  and  I  could  see  that  I  was 
the  subject  of  their  conversation.  But  though  I  questioned 
her  many  times,  and  asked  her  what  made  her  so  sad,  she 
would  tell  me  nothing :  and  the  house  was  so  dismal,  that  I 
disliked  to  stay  in  it ;  but,  as  often  as  possible,  I  would  run 
away  to  play  in  the  streets  and  fields  with  other  boys  of  my 
own  age.  But  the  secret  could  not  long  be  concealed  from 
me.  Another  boy,  with  whom  I  had  quarrelled,  and  who 
had  got  the  worst  of  it,  took  his  revenge  by  telling  me  the 
dreadful  truth.  When  fairly  out  of  my  reach,  he  turned, 
and  sung  out,  "  You  ugly  feller,  you  !  your  father  and  moth- 
er have  been  killed  by  the  Indians,  and  I  am  glad  of  it ! "  I 
ran  home  to  my  aunt,  and  told  her  what  the  bad  boy  had 
said,  and,  in  great  alarm,  asked  her  if  it  was  true.  She  did 
not  need  to  answer  me.  I  knew  it  was  so  by  the  look  she 
gave  me  ;  and  I  burst  into  tears.  My  aunt  and  my  cousins, 
who  were  much  older  than  I,  soon  joined  in  the  melancholy 
wail ;  and  my  uncle,  a  rough,  kind-hearted  man,  left  the 
house  to  avoid  joining  in  the  melancholy  chorus. 

"  I  cried  till  my  strength  was  gone ;  I  cried  till  I  could 
make  no  more  noise ;  and  then  1  was  prostrate  and  calm. 
I  asked  for  the  particulars,  and  was  told  that  a  party  of  Brit- 
ish and  Indians  had  passed  through  the  country,  and  by  my 
old  home;  and  that  they  had  killed  my  father  and  mother, 
and  my  sweet  little  sister  they  had  carried  into  captivity." 

Lady  Beresford  gave  a  start  at  this,  but,  controlling  her- 
self, was  again  as  impassive  as  marble,  her  face  pale  as 
death,  her  eyes  fixed  in  their  sockets,  and  her  lips  rigidly 
compressed. 

•'  You  look  faint,"  said  Joe.  "  Shall  I  call  for  a  glass  of 
water?" 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  lady,  not  relaxing  a  muscle,  but  sway- 
ing back  and  forward  under  the  effort  of  restraint. 


A   FAMILY   HISTOET.  37 

"I  learned  no  more  of  this  affair  for  a  long  time,  except 
that  the  band  of  soldiers  and  savages  was  commanded  by  a 
Col.  Cumberland." 

Lady  Beresford  started  again,  and  made  a  slight  scream, 
but  again  recovered  herself,  and  told  Joe  to  proceed. 

"  Years  after,  I  learned  it  all ;  how,  it  matters  not  now. 
Col.  Cumberland  commanded  the  force  that  killed  my  father. 
He  ordered  him  to  be  treacherously  murdered,  all  defence- 
less and  unarmed  as  he  was.  My  sister  was  borne  away  in 
the  arms  of  an  Indian ;  and,  when  the  party  reached  Quebec, 
Col.  Cumberland  stole  her  from  the  savage.  To  do  it,  he 
shot  the  Indian  through  the  leg  with  a  musket-ball ;  and,  in 
return,  his  own  only  child,  a  little  girl  of  nearly  the  same  age, 
on  whom  his  whole  fortune  depended,  was  murdered  by  the 
vindictive  savage.  For  that  child  was  my  sister  substituted, 
and  brought  to  England." 

Lady  Beresford  still  looked  rigid  and  firm ;  but  the  drifted 
snow  is  not  whiter  than  was  she  at  that  moment.  The  whole 
dream  or  phantasmagoria  of  her  childhood,  which  she  could 
never  comprehend  before,  was  now  plain  and  clear  before  her. 
She  saw  the  part  she  had  been  made  to  play;  and  the  dim,  in- 
distinct recollection  of  her  earliest  years ;  of  the  home  in  the 
forest;  of  her  father  and  mother,  which  she  had  always  be- 
fore regarded  as  unreal,  the  creations  of  a  diseased  imagina- 
tion during  a  period  of  sickness  in  childhood,  —  now  all  stood 
out  before  her  as  grim,  real,  awful  facts. 

"My  father  murdered  by  Col.  Cumberland !"  said  she,  still 
swaying  back  and  forward,  but  retaining  all  her  fixed  rigid- 
ity of  countenance. 

"Your  father!  my  father!  —  your  mother!  my  mother! 
Hear  me  now !  My  mother,  your  mother,  was  worse 
than  murdered  by  Col.  Cumberland ;  and  then  he  sent  two 
Indians  to  cut  her  throat,  while  he  looked  through  the  win- 
dow to  see  the  horrid  deed  committed ;  and  he  sees  it 
ever  since.  Her  dying  eyes  are  ever  on  him  ;  and  from  the 
light  of  her  sweet  face,  and  gaping  wounds,  he  ever  seeks  to 
turn  his  eyes." 

Lady  Beresford  raised  her  hands,  gave  a  wild  screech,  and 
fell  forward  on  the  floor. 

The  noise  brought  the  maid  into  the  room,  and  soon  after 
the  landlady.  The  latter  was  well  acquainted  with  the  mala- 
dies of  nervous  ladies,  and  had  a  good  supply  of  the  reme- 

VOL.   II.  4 


6$  GOMERY   OE   MONTGOMERY: 

dies  usually  employed  in  such  cases ;  and  the  two,  having 
loosened  the  dress  of  the  unconscious  lady,  with  Joe's  help 
placed  her  on  the  sofa,  and  in  a  few  minutes  had  her  re- 
stored to  consciousness. 

She  lay  a  full  half-hour  without  speaking  a  word,  occasion- 
ally casting  her  eyes  at  Joe,  who  sat  anxiously  watching  for 
the  effect  that  his  revelation  might  have  upon  her.  At 
length  she  requested  the  landlady  and  maid  to  leave  the 
room  again,  and  then  said  to  Joe,  "  It  is  enough  for  this  day. 
I  know  it  all  now ;  but  I  have  no  power  to  act,  no  will  to 
decide.  You  are,  then,  that  brother  of  whom  I  have  always 
had  a  faint  glimmer  of  remembrance  !  Let  me  have  days,  or 
weeks  if  necessary,  to  reflect.  The  world  now  opens  so 
strangely  before  me,  I  know  not  what  path  to  take.  But 
you,  my  brother,  whom  I  treated  so  rudely, — you  have  done 
well  in  pursuing  the  authors  of  this  dreadful  crime.  And  fear 
not  that  I  shall  shrink  from  my  duty."  Joe  advanced,  and 
gave  her  his  hand,  saying,  "  I  have  now,  and  have  had  for 
many  years,  nothing  in  this  world  to  live  for  but  to  fulfil 
the  justice  of  Heaven  on  those  who  destroyed  our  father  and 
mother.  It  is  not  vengeance  that  I  seek;  but  an  unseen 
power,  an  element  of  natural  justice  that  permeates  the  world, 
impels  me  to  work  out  the  inevitable  doom  of  guilt.  At  the 
proper  time,  the  instrument  always  comes  fitted  to  my  hands. 
I  never  have  any  doubt  of  what  I  ought  to  do.  My  way  is 
always  open  and  clear  before  me.  The  harmony  of  Nature's 
laws  is  such,  that  he  who  would  do  his  duty  need  never 
hesitate.  Shall  I  go  on?  Shall  I  bring  ruin  on  you  and 
your  children?  or  shall  I  shrink  from  duty,  and  leave  to  other 
and  unnatural  hands  the  fulfilment  of  the  decrees  of  Divine 
Justice  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  ask  me  if  I  shall  partake  of  this  wickedness  ?  " 
said  she  with  a  vehemence  that  startled  Joe.  "  Shall  I  be- 
come a  party  to  the  great  crime  by  eating  the  fruits  that  grow 
rank  from  the  blood  of  my  father  and  mother?  " 

"  It  is  enough,"  said  Joe :  "  leave  the  future  to  itself.  Our 
way  from  this  dark  labyrinth  will  yet  be  all  clear  before  us. 
Let  us  now  return.  The  carriage  waits.  You  now  know 
who  your  mysterious  correspondent  is :  when  necessary,  we 
can  communicate  with  each  other." 

The  party  then  left  the  house  ;  and  the  carriage  was  driven 
directly  back  to  the  town  residence  of  Sir  Henderson  Strong- 
ham. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  6\) 

A  few  days  after  this,  a  great  dinner-party  was  given  at  Sir 
Henderson's.  Among  the  guests  were  Fogue  and  Gomery, 
besides  many  of  the  nobility,  including  Lord  and  Lady  Maccle- 
ton,  the  Duke  of  Mannyfields,  Sir  Philpot  Puncheon,  and  Sir 
Prosper  Neerstickle  and  daughter.  Lady  Beresford  was  also 
of  the  company.  At  the  table,  this  lady  chanced  to  be  seated 
between  the  two  Americans,  and  opposite  to  that  man  whom, 
till  recently,  she  had  always  regarded  as  her  father.  She  no- 
ticed now,  more  particularly  than  usual,  his  nervous  twitching 
of  the  eyes  ;  for  this  was  the  first  time  she  had  met  him  since 
she  had  learned  the  cause  of  this  peculiarity.  Owing  to  the 
presence  of  the  Americans,  the  conversation  naturally  fell, 
early  in  the  feast,  on  America  and  American  affairs.  "  I  have 
long  had  a  desire,"  exclaimed  the  Duke  of  Mannyfields  in  a 
loud  and  pompous  tone,  "  to  visit  your  interesting  country. 
In  my  young  days,  I  was  a  great  sporting  man  ;  and  even  now 
I  would  like  a  crack  at  some  of  your  buffaloes.  I  did  think, 
a  few  years  ago,  I  would  cross  over,  and  give  a  week  to  that 
sport.  I  supposed,  that,  in  a  week  from  the  time  I  left  New 
York,  I  could  traverse  your  great  prairies,  and  get  all  the 
buffalo-shooting  I  cared  for;  ascend  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
take  a  peep  at  Niagara,  get  back  again  to  New  York,  and 
be  ready  to  re-embark."  Gomery  told  him,  that,  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  of  New  York,  buffaloes  were  getting  rather 
scarce ;  but,  beyond  the  Mississippi,  they  still  roamed  in  vast 
herds.  The  noble  duke,  with  that  thirst  for  information  char- 
acteristic of  his  class,  also  inquired  if  the  Indians  were  so 
numerous  in  New  York  as  to  constitute  a  majority  of  the 
people,  and  if  the  wild  animals  were  very  dangerous  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  city. 

Poor  Fogue,  with  all  his  disposition  to  fawn  on  a  live  duke 
and  to  flatter  him  in  every  way,  could  not  repress  a  smile,  or 
rather  sneer  of  contempt ;  but  with  ready  phrase  he  assured 
his  noble  questioner  that  great  changes  had  taken  place  in 
America  during  the  last  few  years  ;  that  now  it  was  quite 
safe  to  venture  back  from  such  places  as  Boston,  New  York, 
and  Philadelphia,  as  much  as  fifty  miles. 

"  Very  different,  then,"  replied  the  duke,  "  from  what  it 
was  when  my  noble  friend  opposite  was  there.  How  long  is 
it,  Maccleton,  since  you  were  last  in  America  ?  " 

"  I  returned  the  last  time  in  '83." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Fogue.  "  I  was  not  aware  that  you  had  been 
in  America." 


40  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY: 

"Ah,  yes!"  continued  the  duke  :  "my  noble  and  gallant 
friend  won  great  distinction  during  that  foolish  war  you  made 
against  us,  and  more  against  your  own  interests.  Indeed,  it 
has  ever  since  been  a  mystery  to  me  that  the  independence 
of  the  Colonies  was  ever  acknowledged." 

"If  you  had  seen  as  much  of  their  fighting  as  I  did,  the 
mystery  would  have  been  cleared  up  long  ago,"  replied  Mac- 
cleton. 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  America,  Lady  Beresford?"  said 
Gomery. 

"  I  was  born  there,"  said  she,  fixing  a  look  of  immobility  on 
Lord  Maccleton. 

"  Born  there !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  duke. 

At  this  expression  of  Lady  Beresford,  Lord  Maccleton 
turned  ghastly  pale,  and  gave  a  start  unusual  even  for  him, 
who  was  always  starting,  and  turning  away  from  disagreeable 
objects.  He  was  too  well  drilled,  however,  had  too  long 
schooled  himself  to  self-control,  and  was  too  well  aware  of 
his  duty  to  his  rank  and  class,  to  falter,  even  for  an  instant. 
"  My  daughter,"  said  he,  "  and  her  mother,  went  with  me  on 
my  first  campaign  in  America ;  and  consequently  her  first  rec- 
ollections are  of  that  country." 

"His  daughter  went  with  him  to  America,"  said  she,  still 
keeping  the  same  steady,  fixed  look*fast  upon  him. 

Lord  Maccleton  started  again  at  this,  but  not  as  before. 
His  nerves  were  steeled ;  besides  which,  the  surprise  was  not 
so  sudden  as  before. 

Gomery  alone  of  all  the  party  noticed  her  words  and  man- 
ner, and  also  their  effect  on  Lord  Maccleton. 

"  You  must  have  seen  a  rude  and  rough  country,  then,"  said 
Fogue.  "  I  trust  you  may  come  over  and  see  us  again,  and 
observe  the  progress  we  have  made." 

"That  progress  and  prosperity,"  said  Mannyfields,  "I  view 
with  great  suspicion.  They  only  make  your  people  contented 
with  their  vicious  form  of  government.  Without  an  estab- 
lished aristocracy,  you  must  drift  into  license  and  barbarism. 
Your  theory  of  democracy  is,  from  the  nature  of  the  case, 
self-destructive  and  absurd.  When  the  people  have  not  the 
examples  of  the  nobility  to  imitate  and  honor,  they  necessa- 
rily fall  into  dejiravity,  anarchy,  and  crime  ;  and  sooner  or 
later  your  institutions  must  be  changed.  It  would  be  easy 
to  do  it  now ;  but  the  prosperity  of  the  ignorant  masses  leads 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  41 

them  to  believe  they  are  well  off,  and  to  rest  contented  with 
their  absurd  government.  But  it  must  break  up,  and  it  will 
be  well  if  it  does  so  soon,  and  before  the  country  becomes  so 
populous,  that  change  will  be  destructive." 

"  I  know  there  are  evils  in  our  social  and  political  organiza- 
tions," answered  Fogue ;  "but  I  am  hopeful  of  a  change  more 
gradual,  and  attended  by  less  convulsions  and  disaster  than 
what  you  apprehend.  With  the  aid  and  co-operation  of  the 
wealth  and  noble  blood  of  England  acting  cordially  with  our 
educated  and  wealthy  classes,  we  expect  to  work  out  a  great 
change  quietly  and  with  little  opposition,  and  no  violence." 

"  I  hope  it  may  be  so,"  said  the  duke ;  "  but  I  have  no  faith 
in  democracy  correcting  itself.  It  must  first  ruin  itself  and 
all  it  touches,  and  then  something  better  will  succeed." 

Gomery,  not  wishing  to  participate  in  the  political  discus- 
sion, turned  again  to  Lady  Beresford,  and  said,  "  What  are 
your  recollections  of  America  ?  It  appears,  from  a  remark 
of  your  illustrious  father,  that  you  were  very  young  when 
you  left  there." 

"My  recollections,"  she  replied  in  a  voice  loud  and  clear, 
that  could  be  heard  at  either  end  of  the  table,  "  are  of  sav- 
age Indians,  and  more  savage  English  officers." 

Lord  Maccleton  gave  another  start,  and  drank  a  glass 
of  wine.  It  was  evident  to  him,  that,  at  last,  his  long  life  of 
crime  was  discovered.  The  words  of  his  reputed  daughter 
were  like  red-hot  needles  in  his  ears,  that  pricked  through, 
and  at  length  reached  the  guilty  conscience  of  the  wicked,  old, 
and  honored  man.  He  felt  the  ground  on  which  he  had 
firmly  stood  so  long,  defying  God  and  despising  man,  slipping 
from  beneath  his  feet,  and  that  he  and  his  house  were  going 
down  to  shame  and  universal  contempt.  And  this  was  all 
going  on  while  he  was  yet  honored  and  respected ;  and,  even 
in  the  strongholds  of  his  friends,  he  saw  the  hand  of  justice 
writing  for  the  world  to  read  his  ignominy  and  disgrace. 
This  member  of  a  privileged  class  of  a  great  nation,  whose 
members  regarded  themselves  as  superior  to  all  other  human 
or  earthly  things,  and  who  were  envied  by  common  mortals 
as  beings  already  in  the  third  heavens,  and  to  attain  which 
position  men  would  sacrifice  every  other  consideration,  —  this 
man,  thus  envied,  was  now  the  most  miserable  wretch  in  the 
whole  kingdom.  No  starving  mother  in  a  London  cellar, 
who  saw  her  children  dying  of  want  before  her  eyes,  ever 

4* 


42  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

felt  the  acute  and  agonizing  misery  of  this  wretched  old 
man.  She  could  but  die,  and  be  forgotten ;  and  her  children 
could  but  follow  her  through  crime,  misery,  and  death.  But 
he  could  not  thus  die,  and  be  forgotten.  He  felt  that  his 
secret  was  one 

"  The  earth  refused  to  keep." 

For  a  long  time,  he  had  been  receiving  occasional  hints 
that  his  crimes  were  known,  and  that  a  volcano  was  smoul- 
dering beneath  him.  He  had  borne  the  horrid  vision  before 
his  eyes  for  years,  and  passed  a  life  of  ever-present  horrors, 
to  save  his  name  and  his  house  from  infamy.  He  would 
gladly  have  died  at  any  time  for  many  years  past,  could  he  have 
been  assured  that  his  evil  deeds  should  followhim  to  the  grave, 
and  never  be  divulged  on  earth.  But  they  held  him  as  by 
a  spell  to  life ;  and  he  felt  that  his  pursuers  only  refrained 
from  exposure  in  order  to  continue  their  secret  torture,  and 
that  his  death  would  be  the  signal  of  infamy  to  his  house. 
Life  was  horrible;  but  he  dared  not  relinquish  it;  for  he  had 
grown  up  in  and  had  always  cherished  the  idea  and  belief 
that  he  belonged  to  a  class  not  only  superior  to  other  men 
in  things  temporal,  but  so  transcendently  so,  that  it  was  for 
him  and  such  as  him  to  prescribe  the  form  and  degrees  of  reli- 
gious faith  for  the  National  Church,  to  which  all  must  assent 
under  penalty  of  forfeitures  and  disabilities.  But  now  the 
shell  of  his  self-conceit  and  complacent  superiority  seemed 
to  be  cracking  and  crumbling  away;  and  he  felt  there  was  a 
power  in  the  earth  superior  to  the  aristocracy  of  England 
and  its  Established  Church. 

Thoughts  of  this  kind  passed  so  rapidly  through  the  mind 
of  Lord  Maccleton,  as  he  received,  one  after  another,  the 
remorseless  thrusts  of  Lady  Beresford,  that,  to  an  extent 
never  before  observed,  he  lost  his  self-control,  and,  more 
abruptly  than  usual,  turned  his  head  in  different  directions  to 
avert  his  eyes  from  the  ever-present  spectre.  Gomery  was 
the  only  one  at  the  table,  besides  the  lady  herself,  that  ob- 
served the  effect  of  her  enigmatical  expressions  upon  him ; 
but  what  they  all  meant,  or  why  she  took  this  occasion  to 
bring  her  father  to  shame  and  remorse,  he  could  not  divine. 
Yet  it  was  clear  that  there  was  a  dreadful  secret  between 
them. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  43 

The  dinner  was  at  length  finished ;  and  the  ladies  with- 
drew, leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine.  As  Goraery  was 
not  given  to  deep  potations,  he  followed  the  young  Viscount 
Muddybumps,  who  was  dying  of  a  passion  for  the  daughter 
of  Sir  Prosper  Neerstickle  (a  young  lady  whose  beauty  was 
only  excelled  by  her  fortune),  into  the  company  of  the  ladies 
a  little  earlier  than  their  older  and  wiser  companions  had 
raised  the  spirit-level  to  its  customary  after-dinner  point. 

Gomery,  as  he  entered  the  drawing-room,  had  a  few  words 
with  one,  and  then  another;  and  gradually  drifted  towards  a 
corner  where  sat  Lady  Beresford  looking  over  some  loose 
engravings. 

As  he  approached,  Lady  Beresford,  without  raising  her 
eyes,  said,  "  I  was  looking  for  you,  Mr.  Gomery." 

"Indeed,"  said  he :  "you  greatly  honor  me.  In  such  com- 
pany, I  knew  I  should  be  the  least  important  person  present ; 
and,  when  out  of  sight,  never  expected  to  be  afterwards  in 
mind." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  said  she,  placing  under  his 
eyes  the  first  of  Hogarth's  series  of  Love  a  la  mode. 

"I  am  not  a  proper  judge  of  it  as  a  comment  on  the  social 
life  of  England ;  but  I  must  say,  that  as  yet,  in  our  republi- 
can simplicity,  we  have  little  to  justify  such  a  reproach." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  then  ?"  said  she,  drawing  from 
below,  and  placing  at  the  top,  the  scene  from  the  "  Four 
Stages  of  Cruelty,"  by  the  same  master-hand,  where  the 
woman  is  shown  with  her  throat  gashed  across  from  ear  to 
ear. 

"That  may  be  truthful,  but  is  certainly  horrible,  and  is 
enough  to  make  one  shudder  at  the  sight,  and  keep  him 
awake  afterwards." 

"  Will  you  please  ask  Lord  Maccleton  what  he  thinks  of 
it  ?  "  said  she. 

Gomery  took  up  the  engraving,  and,  approaching  Lord 
Maccleton,  said,  "Lady  Beresford  begs  me  to  ask  your 
lordship's  opinion  of  this  one  of  Hogarth's  pictures." 

The  noble  lord  took  out  his  spectacles,  and,  placing  them 
astride  his  nose  (averting  his  eyes  but  twice  in  the  while 
from  the  apparition  invisible  to  all  but  himself),  took  the 
engraving  in  his  hands;  and,  after  two  or  three  attempts  to 
bring  it  to  the  right  angle  and  focus,  his  eye  fell  on  the 
figure  of  the  woman,  the  victim  of  passion,  whose  throat 


44  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY: 

had  been  cut,  and  who  lay  dead  upon  the  floor,  a  horrid 
illustration  of  fiendish  cruelty. 

At  the  first  glance,  the  picture  dropped  from  his  hand ;  and 
Lord  Maccleton  fell  insensible  upon  the  floor. 

There  was  a  rush,  a  tender  of  helping  hands,  to  the  pros- 
trate and  noble  lord ;  but  Lady  Beresford  sat  with  a  face  of 
marble,  looking  unmoved  on  the  scene. 

"  Did  you  notice,"  said  Fogue  to  Gomery  on  their  way  to 
their  lodgings,  "how  cold  and  indifferent  Lady  Beresford 
looked  when  her  father  was  in  the  fit?" 

"  I  noticed  it,"  replied  Gomery. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  45 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"Kent.  .  .  .  Such  smiling  rogues  as  these, 
Like  rats,  oft  bite  the  holy  cords  atwain 
Which  are  too  intrince  t'  unloose ;  smooth  every  passion 
That  in  the  natures  of  their  lords  rebels  ; 
Bring  oil  to  fire,  snow  to  their  colder  moods  ; 
Renege,  affirm,  and  turn  their  halcyon  beaks 
With  every  gale  and  vary  of  their  masters."— King  Lear. 

It  was  some  five  months  after  Joe  Pumpagin  had  left 
Montgomery,  and  gone  off,  —  for  the  last  time,  so  far  as  is 
now  known  to  this  history,  —  that  a  sharp-featured,  tall,  and 
precise-looking  man  made  his  appearance  at  Diller's  Tavern. 
He  was  apparently  about  forty-five  years  of  age,  and  might 
have  passed  for  a  clergyman,  a  lawyer,  or  a  college-professor. 
He  had  no  ostensible  business;  and  of  course  the  gossips 
were  soon  engaged  in  ferreting  out  who  he  was,  and  what  he 
wanted.  His  trunk  was  marked  "  S.  Mettlar,  Boston ; "  and, 
when  Diller  called  him  Mr.  Mettlar,  he  answered  to  the 
name  as  his  own.  He  was  a  tall,  thoughtful-looking  man, 
with  silver-bowed  spectacles;  and  he  had  sound,  white  teeth, 
that  from  long  practice  he  had  learned  to  show  whenever 
he  opened  his  mouth,  so  that  he  had  a  continued  smirk 
and  smile  on  his  face  whenever  he  engaged  in  conversation. 
He  was  apparently  flush  of  money,  and  paid  the  servants 
for  any  attentions  showed  him  with  a  liberality  quite  un- 
usual. He  had  that  characteristic  of  his  race,  inquisitiveness, 
which  is  far  more  agreeable  than  taciturnity  to  the  gossips 
and  newsmongers  of  a  New-England  village.  But  he  had 
the  more  rare  faculty  of  working  the  mental  pump-handle 
till  he  had  exhausted  the  wells  of  knowledge  in  others  with- 
out saying  any  thing  himself  that  could  give  an  idea  of 
what  he  was  seeking  to  discover.  He  secured  the  best 
rooms  in  the  Eagle,  and  did  not  ask  the  terms  till  he  had 
occupied  them  a  week;  and  then  he  sent  for  his  bill,  and  paid 
it  without  objecting  to  an  item :  at  which  little  Diller  was 
u  exceedingly  astonished ;  for,  excepting  Joe  Pumpagin,  it 
was  a  thing  he  had  seldom  known  before. 


46  GOMERY  OP  MONTGOMERY: 

The  stranger  was  prompt  to  make  acquaintance  with  the 
people  of  the  village.  He  talked  with  everybody.  If  there 
was  company  in  the  bar-room,  he  was  there,  and  always 
ready  to  talk,  and  sharp  at  gleaning  information  of  the  place 
by  the  most  innocent,  insinuating  questions.  Though  neat 
and  precise  in  his  dress,  and  evidently  not  "  to  the  manner 
born  "  of  the  country  people  whose  confidences  he  sought 
to  cultivate,  he  yet  mingled  with  them  on  the  most  familiar 
terms ;  and  at  the  militia  training,  or  in  the  crowds  col- 
lected around  the  stores  and  tavern  of  a  Saturday  afternoon, 
he  was  always  in  the  thickest  of  the  crowd,  and  ready  to 
drink  the  New-England  rum  or  potato  whiskey  with  the 
dryest,  and  always  insisted  on  paying  the  score.  On  several 
occasions  he  had  met  Squire  Gomery,  and  had  endeavored 
to  make  his  acquaintance.  But  the  lawyer  at  once  detected 
something  forbidding  and  sinister  in  the  man's  character,  and 
allowed  neither  familiarity  nor  acquaintance.  To  allay  suspi- 
cion, the  stranger  gave  out  that  he  was  in  bad  health,  and 
had  come  up  into  the  country  to  get  the  fresh  air  of  the 
hills,  and  recuperate  his  shattered  system.  But  Mrs.  Diller, 
who  suspected  mischief,  told  him  plainly  that  his  appetite 
was  wonderful  for  a  sick  man;  and  he  then  said  he  was 
seeking  materials  for  a  book  on  the  early  history  of  New 
England.  This  report  being  given  out,  he  found  people 
very  communicative,  and  willing  to  furnish  all  they  knew, 
and  a  great  deal  more.  They  were  growing  suspicious  of 
his  curiosity  in  prying  into  the  private  history  of  the  dif- 
ferent families ;  but,  as  soon  as  it  was  reported  that  he  was 
to  write  a  book,  they  were  eager  to  tell  all  about  the  won- 
derful deeds  of  their  ancestors,  incited  thereto  by  the  hope 
of  honorable  mention  in  the  forthcoming  volume.  They 
now  saw  in  the  stranger  one  who  could  confer  immortal 
fame  upon  them,  and  were  eager  enough  to  ingratiate  them- 
selves with  him.  But,  however  the  conversation  might 
begin,  he  was  sure  to  lead  his  interlocutors  to  talk  about 
the  early  traditions  of  Gault's  Hill.  Every  morning,  when 
the  weather  was  fair,  he  would  sally  forth  from  his  room  in 
the  inn,  and  call  upon  some  of  the  oldest  settlers  of  the 
place,  and  gather  from  them  the  floating  stories  of  its  early 
history.  These  had  wonderfully  increased  with  time ;  and 
the  many  versions  of  the  terrible  Gault  tragedy  sadly  con- 
fused him  in  his  efforts  to  learn  the  truth.     Some  said  that 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  47 

the  whole  family  had  been  killed;  some,  that  the  wife 
of  Gault  was  an  old  friend  and  sweetheart  of  the  British 
officer  in  command  of  the  soldiers,  and  was  a  party  to  the 
conspiracy ;  had  fled  with  him  to  England,  and  there  mar- 
ried him,  lived  like  a  great  lady,  and  had  a  large  family  of 
children.  Others,  again,  said  there  was  a  tradition  of  a 
boy  who  was  not  killed,  but  was  roaming  over  the  earth 
in  disguise  as  an  avenging  spirit  that  would  never  allow  a 
moment's  rest  to  the  perpetrator  of  the  deed.  Still  others 
said  that  the  boy  who  had  escaped  the  massacre  had  after- 
wards died;  as  it  was  quite  evident,  that,  had  he  been  alive, 
he  would  have  come  back,  and  claimed  the  property  left  by 
his  father.  In  regard  to  the  fate  of  the  girl,  there  were 
nearly  as  many  stories  as  in  regard  to  that  of  the  boy.  But 
the  most  current  was,  that  she  had  been  taken  away,  and 
lived  to  grow  up  with  the  Indians,  and  was  seen,  years  after, 
a  haggard,  crazy,  decrepit  woman,  wandering  about  the 
hill  at  the  dusk  of  evening ;  but  she  could  never  be  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  be  spoken  to,  as  she  vanished  into 
the  thicket  at  the  first  sound  of  footsteps,  shunning  the 
human  race  like  a  wild  fawn  or  a  fox.  Some  said  that  she 
was  always  accompanied  by  a  large  she-bear;  but  as  no 
tracks  of  such  an  animal  had  ever  been  seen,  though  dili- 
gently searched  for  after  each  reported  appearance  of  the 
strange  pair,  it  was  generally  considered  that  the  bear  was 
only  an  illusion,  or  imaginary  creature  conjured  up  by  the 
fears  of  the  witnesses.  Among  most  people,  a  vague  super- 
stition lingered  for  a  long  time  about  Gault's  Hill;  and 
even  the  bravest  and  most  sceptical  could  never  pass  certain 
places  of  a  dark  night  without  calling  to  mind  the  sad 
history  of  its  first  settlement;  and  an  unusual  noise  or 
movement  of  an  unseen  animal  in  the  bushes  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  hill  would  cause  an  expression  like  "  Gault's  daughter 
is  about,"  or,  "  The  girl  and  the  bear  are  prowling  round,"  to 
escape  from  the  lips  of  the  belated  passer-by. 

But  whether  the  daughter  of  the  murdered  Gault  was 
alive  or  not,  or  whether,  if  alive,  she  occasionally  appeared 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  hill,  it  was  said  by  all  that  a  strange 
figure  had  been  accustomed  in  times  past  to  make  its  ap- 
pearance in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  and  watch  the  house ; 
but  whether  it  was  a  man  or  woman,  savage  or  civilized,  no 
one  could  tell.     The  tracks  of  this  person  had  frequently 


48  GOMEEY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

been  seen,  and  they  were  so  very  peculiar,  that  they  were 
instantly  recognized ;  though  sometimes  the  feet  that  made 
them  had  been  bare,  and  at  other  times  wore  moccasons. 
But  the  tracks  showed  that  the  feet  of  the  straggler  were 
generally  bare :  they  always  had,  whether  bare  or  covered, 
one  peculiar  feature  that  proved  their  identity.  The  print 
of  the  right  foot  was  not  so  deep  as  that  of  the  left,  and 
was  always  at  right  angles  with  it ;  the  toe  of  the  right, 
whenever  the  person  seemed  to  be  standing  still,  invariably 
pointing  from  the  hollow  of  the  other. 

There  was  no  tradition  that  Gault's  daughter  was  de- 
formed in  the  feet :  on  the  contrary,  like  all  unhappy  damsels 
of  whom  little  or  nothing  is  known,  she  was  said  to  have  been 
a  young  girl  possessed  of  all  the  graces,  and  of  that  angelic 
beauty  which  is  always  fatal  to  its  possessor.  It  is  a  myste- 
rious order  of  things  that  kills  off  the  unnaturally  good  be- 
fore any  but  their  friends  and  biographers  have  discovered 
their  rare  qualities,  and  remorselessly  strangles  the  angelic 
beauties  before  they  have  been  debased  by  vulgar  eyes. 
Like  the  child-pig  of  Elia,  they  are  snatched  away  "  ere  sin 
can  blight  or  sorrow  fade ; "  and  are  not  allowed  to  grow  up 
either  to  man,  woman,  or  hog  hood. 

But  the  traditions  of  her  infantile  perfections  were  not 
conclusive  that  the  mysterious  tracks  were  not  hers ;  for  some 
said,  that,  after  she  was  stolen  away,  she  had  been  mutilated 
by  the  Indians.  The  footprints  were  too  large,  too  broad 
across  the  joints  of  the  toes,  for  a  white  man;  and  to  sup- 
pose they  could  be  those  of  a  white  woman,  especially  one 
so  fair  and  delicate  as  Gault's  daughter,  was  considered  ab- 
surd. Hence  the  evidence,  as  it  appeared  to  the  investi- 
gator, was  against  the  re-appearance  of  the  child  at  the 
scene  of  the  massacre. 

Seth  Mettlar,  while  contriving  to  revive  the  fading  tradi- 
tions of  Gault's  Hill,  and  to  induce  the  people  of  Mont- 
gomery to  rehearse  all  they  had  heard,  dreamed,  or  imagined 
in  regard  to  its  early  history,  carefully  treasured  up  every 
thing  he  heard.  But,  at  this  period  of  time,  he  could  learn 
little  that  was  positive  or  satisfactory.  None  of  the  resi- 
dents of  the  village  knew  any  thing  of  the  circumstances  of 
the  massacre  of  the  Gaults,  except  what  they  had  heard  from 
others  who  knew  little  more  than  themselves  of  the  facts  of 
that  dreadful  crime.     So  this  searcher  after  truth  enlarged 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  49 

the  sphere  of  his  investigations,  and  inquired  who  were  the 
first  settlers  of  the  town,  and  who  had  ever  known  person- 
ally any  thing  of  the  unfortunate  family.  But,  to  his  discom- 
fiture, he  learned  that  Gault  was  the  pioneer  settler  in  that 
region,  and  was  killed,  and  the  grass  had  grown  for  one 
season  at  least  over  his  grave,  before  any  other  of  the  early 
settlers  had  come  into  the  vicinity.  After  Gault,  he  learned 
that  the  next  settler  was  Asa  Fisher ;  and  both  he  and  his 
wife  had  long  since  paid  the  debt  of  nature ;  and  not  one  of 
their  children  was  left  in  Montgomery,  but  all,  with  that  pro- 
pensity to  "  move  on  "  so  characteristic  of  the  genuine  Yan- 
kee, had  gone  farther  back  into  still  newer  settlements. 
Henry,  the  youngest  son,  whose  defence  of  the  religion  and 
character  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery  may  be  recollected, 
had  moved  away  about  a  year  before  the  advent  of  this  an- 
tiquarian. The  oldest  daughter,  now  an  old  woman,  had 
married  near  forty  years  before,  and  had  settled  in  a  town 
some  forty  miles  to  the  north  of  Montgomery,  where  she 
bore  her  husband  a  goodly  number  of  sons  and  daughters. 
These,  too,  were  all  grown  up,  and  married  off.  Her  husband 
had  passed  to  the  undiscovered  country;  and  the  widow 
was  living  with  her  oldest  daughter  on  the  same  farm  that 
her  husband  had  redeemed  from  the  forest. 

Seth  Mettlar  resolved  to  go  and  see  this  ancient  dame,  as 
it  seemed  that  she  was  more  likely  than  any  one  in  Mont- 
gomery to  have  the  earliest  traditions  of  the  neighborhood. 
In  seeking  for  some  one  who  had  lived  in  the  same  town 
with  her,  he  found  that  the  young  wife  of  Jason  Lewis  was 
a  native  of  the  same  place,  and  had  known  her  from  child- 
hood. From  her  he  learned  that  the  old  lady  was  very  fee- 
ble, having  had  a  paralytic  attack  a  year  before  that  left  her 
helpless  in  body,  though  her  memory  of  the  early  times  was 
in  no  way  impaired. 

With  this  resolution  of  consulting  this  aged  woman,  Seth 
Mettlar  hired  the  steady,  fast-trotting  nag  of  Deacon  Spinney, 
which  he  mounted  early  of  a  morning,  and  rode  away,  with 
the  distant  town  of  Ridgeway  for  his  destination,  and  with- 
out informing  any  one  of  the  object  of  his  journey.  This 
reticence  was  regarded  as  gross  treachery  on  his  part  by 
many  of  his  most  valuable  acquaintances;  and  some  of  them 
said,  that,  if  they  had  known  beforehand  that  he  was  going 
to  Ridgeway,  they  could   have  given  him  directions  that 

VOL.   II.  6 


50  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

would  have  insured  him  a  better  road,  and  saved  him  miles 
of  travel,  and  this,  too,  without  knowing  what  road  he  had 
taken.  By  good  riding,  which  was  harder  on  himself  than 
on  the  horse  he  bestrode,  he  reached  Ridgeway  at  sunset  on 
the  same  day ;  and,  as  he  was  approaching  that  part  of  the 
town  known  sometimes  as  the  "  Village,"  and  sometimes  as 
the  "Corner,"  he  chanced  to  observe  a  boy  driving  some 
cows  from  an  opening  close  by,  towards  the  highway.  He 
did  not  like  to  inquire  directly  for  the  house  he  sought ;  for 
then  the  people  there,  if  they  should  learn  of  it,  would  be 
apt  to  inquire  about  his  business  with  them.  So  he  began 
beating  about  the  bush,  commencing  his  conversation  in 
this  manner :  — 

"  Well,  my  lad,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

«  Peltire." 

"Pelatiah?" 

"Yes;  Peltire  Staples:  but  they  call  me  Pell-mell  for 
short."  Just  at  this  moment,  a  young  heifer  made  a  dash 
towards  the  bushes ;  and  young  Pelatiah  started  to  head  her 
off,  singing  to  himself,  "  Pell-mell,  and  you  may  go  to  hell." 

The  youth  soon  came  up  again  alongside  of  Seth ;  and,  as 
he  walked  along  beside  the  horse,  he  stared  at  the  rider  as 
though  he  were  some  natural  curiosity.  "What  is  your 
father's  name  ?  "  inquired  Seth. 

"  Sullivan.     What's  yours  ?  " 

"Sullivan?" 

"  Yes :  Sullivan  Staples.  That  is  our  house  up  there  on 
the  ridge.  We  put  up  travellers  sometimes.  Only  two  and 
thrippence  for  supper,  breakfast,  and  lodging.  Horse  only 
ninepence  for  hay,  and  ninepence  more  for  oats.  Better 
stop,  old  man ! " 

"  Sullivan  Staples,"  mused  Seth  to  himself.  "  This  must 
be  the  house,  then,  that  I  wanted  to  find.  I  think  so :  but 
I  am  not  certain ;  for  nobody  was  quite  sure  who  the  old 
woman's  daughter  married.  Some  said  it  was  a  Sullivan ; 
but  then  Jason  Lewis's  wife  said  it  was  a  Staples,  and  here 
are  the  two  names  both  together.  Boy,  are  your  folks 
well?" 

"Well  enough:  why?" 

"  Are  your  father  and  mother  well  ?  " 

"Agreed." 

"  How  is  your  grandmother  ?  * 


A   FAMILY  HISTORY,  51 

"  None  the  better  for  you." 

"  You  are  a  sharp  lad." 

"Ami?     Tell  news,  will  ye  ?  " 

By  this  time  they  reached  the  house,  and  turned  up  to  the 
door.  The  sharp  boy's  mother  was  standing  in  the  doorway  ; 
and  Seth  rode  up,  and  asked  if  he  could  get  entertainment 
for  himself  and  horse  for  the  night. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  woman  :  "  we  always  keep  travellers. 
Pel,  you  good-for-nothin'  creeter,  why  don't  you  take  the 
gentleman's  boss?" 

"  Come  in  Mr.,  will  you  ?  and  sit  down  by  the  fire  :  it  is 
getting  right  chilly." 

The  traveller  followed  the  good  woman  into  the  house ;  and 
his  eyes  were  gladdened  at  the  sight  of  an  old  woman,  sitting 
staring  in  the  corner,  mumbling,  and  bobbing  her  head,  and 
looking  blear  and  curious  at  his  approach. 

The  thrifty  grand-daughter  of  Asa  Fisher  soon  had  an 
abundant  repast  for  her  guest,  who,  directly  on  entering,  had 
commenced  conversation  with  the  old  woman,  whose  con- 
fidence he  had  won  by  addressing  her  as  grandmother,  and 
shaking  her  heartily  by  the  hand. 

Taking  his  seat  at  the  table,  on  which  the  hostess  had  set 
a  platter  of  cold  boiled  beef,  and  potatoes,  turnips,  carrots, 
and  cabbage,  some  brown-bread  made  of  mixed  rye  and  corn 
meal,  an  apple-pie  and  a  pot  of  tea,  with  rich  cream  and 
brown  sugar,  the  traveller  resumed  his  conversation  with 
the  old  woman. 

"And  how  long  have  you  lived  in  this  place,  grand- 
mother?" 

"  Well,  it  is  nigh  on  to  forty  year.  I  was  goin'  on  past 
one  and  twenty  when  I  was  married  to  Goin  —  Goin  —  Goin 
Gordon  was  my  husband's  name ;  but  he  is  dead  now,  more 
than  ten  year  ago :  and  so  I  live  with  my  darter  Betsey  here, 
who  married  Sullivan  Staples,  him  as  was  son  of  Cap'n  Sta- 
ples, that  fit  in  the  Revolution." 

"  Then  you  were  not  born  in  this  place  ?" 
, "  Lord  a  marcy !    When  I  was  born,  there  wan't  no  soul  this 
side  of  Montgomery  Village.     My  feyther  was  the  first  settler 
in  all  them  parts  arter  David  Gault,  — him  as  was  killed  by  the 
British  and  Indians." 

"  How  !  killed!  what  for?  Tell  me,  my  good  woman,  all 
about  it." 


52  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"What!  didn't  you  never  hear  about  how  they  was  all 
murdered  up  there  on  Gault's  Hill  as  it  used  to  be  called? 
now  called  Montgomery.  I  wasn't  born  then ;  but  I  have 
heerd  my  feyther  and  mother  talk  it  over  more'n  a  thousand 
times.  You  see  Gault  was  a  man  as  come  from  Taunton  or 
Hampton  or  Gloucester,  or  some  of  them  parts  to  the  west'ard ; 
and  he  had  a  good  log-house  and  was  doin'  well,  and  had  a 
wife  as  they  said  was  a  beauty,  and  two  childer." 

"  Only  one  child,  mother,"  interupted  her  daughter,  the 
mistress  of  the  house. 

"  No,  Betsey :  there  was  two  childer,  I  have  heard  my  fey- 
ther say,  —  one  a  boy,  and  one  a  gal ;  but  them  Welch's  folks 
said  as  how  one  on  'em  was  not  at  home  at  the  time  when 
liis  pa  and  ma  was  killed,  but  was  away  off  to  the  west'ard 
with  some  of  his  aunts.  But  I  don't  know  nothin'  about 
that.  My  feyther  said  the  house  had  ghosts  in  it ;  and  I  have 
heard  a'  many  travellers  come  along  and  stay  there,  and  tell 
the  same  story  of  ghosts  and  awful  noises.  And  such  a  pret- 
ty woman  they  all  saw  by  the  fire,  and  the  man  too,  and  the 
little  girl,  and  the  guns  and  sich  noises,  and  then  —  I  dunno 
all." 

"The  boy,  you  say,  was  not  killed  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  Them  as  seen  the  ghosts  never  seen  no  boy  ;  and 
I  'spect  it  was  true  that  he  was  gone  off  at  the  time  to  his 
aunts;  for  he  was  never  heard  on  in  all  them  parts  arterwards." 

"You  never  knew  where  his  relatives  lived,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Well  I  a'inost  forgot.  But  yet  a'  remember.  Once,  a 
good  bit  arterwards,  when  I  was  as  old  as  that  gal  there,  —  that 
gal  with  a  tidy ;  she  was  named  arter  me,  Jerusha ;  and  I  gin 
her  a  dollar  when  she  was  a  year  old,  a  silver  dollar,  and  she 
has  got  it  now.  Jerusha,  can't  you  show  the  gentleman  your 
dollar?" 

"  Oh  !  never  mind  about  that,  my  good  woman  :  what  were 
you  saying  about  Gault's  relations  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  so  I  was.  I  think  they  was  somewhere  from 
Gloucester:  and  yet  I  don't  seem  to  know,  nuther;  for  it 
'pears  to  me  I've  hearn  they  come  from  Nor'hampton ;  and 
Reuben  Richards's  wife,  she  that  was  Ruth  Welch,  said  how 
she  see  a  man  once  that  passed  through  the  village,  and  he  said 
he  knowed  him  when  he  was  a  young  man,  and  long  afore  he 
had  ever  seen  Gault's  Hill.  Lord  a  marcy  !  it  would  ha'  been 
well  if  he'd  never  seen  it ;  and  so,  too,  poor  Robert  Gom«-y, 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  53 

feyther  of  the  square,  him  as  was  froze  to  death  in  sight  of  his 
own  winder.  I  remember  all  about  that.  I  was  older  than 
I  was  when  I  was  younger  and  littler.  And  we  all  cried  so! 
for  Mr.  Gomery,  the  square's  feyther,  was  a  proper  good  man. 
Oh,  dear !  what  a  time  it  was !  He  was  froze  to  death  the  same 
night  he  left  our  house." 

"Then  you  think  that  the  boy  that  was  not  killed  lived 
with  his  aunts  at  Northampton  or  Gloucester?  " 

"  Well,  I  misremember  which.  My  feyther  thought  so ; 
and  Ruth  Welch,  she  that  married  Reuben  Richards,  —  she 
said  that  the  man  she  seen  told  how  he  knowed  him  in  Glou- 
cester. And  just  after  my  feyther  moved  on  to  his  place,  and 
two  months  before  I  was  born,  there  was  a  man  from  Bos- 
ton come  and  stopped  at  our  house ;  and  he  said  he  was  a 
brother  of  poor  Mrs.  Gault  that  was  killed.  His  name  was 
Grover  or  Governor,  or  some  sich  name ;  but  I  wasn't  born 
then,  and  I  can't  remember.  My  memory  is  not  so  good  as 
some  is." 

"He  came  from  Boston,  you  say?" 

"Well,  I  misremember  that  too;  fori  wasn't  born  then. 
He  talked  a  great  deal  about  Boston,  and  a  great  great  deal 
about  Gloucester  too,  —  so  my  feyther  said;  and  he  knew  a 
sight  of  folks  my  feyther  knew,  for  he  came  from  near  Glou- 
cester." 

The  old  woman's  ideas  were  evidently  confused,  and  her 
memory  hazy;  but  Seth  Mettlar  was  convinced  that  the 
Gaults  had  emigrated,  before  the  war,  from  either  Northamp- 
ton or  Gloucester  in  Massachusetts.  The  conversation,  thus 
far,  had  been  carried  on  entirely  between  himself  and  the 
old  woman,  while  he  was  eating  his  supper.  Jerusha  had 
stood  all  the  time  in  the  chimney-corner,  staring  at  the 
stranger  as  if  transfixed  by  his  presence.  Pelatiah  had  been 
engaged  in  building  cob-houses  in  one  corner,  where  his 
father,  who  had  just  gone  to  a  neighbor's,  had  been  shelling 
corn  during  the  afternoon.  This  was  the  information  he 
had  come  to  seek;  and  so  eager  had  he  been  to  catch  every 
word  the  old  woman  uttered,  that  he  scarcely  tasted  the 
coarse,  wholesome  food  that  he  had  swallowed.  As  he  was 
rising  from  the  table,  the  goodman  of  the  house  came  in ;  and, 
having  already  learned  from  the  old  woman  all  she  probably 
knew  of  the  Gaults  and  their  history,  he  began  to  talk  with 
the  host  about  the  condition,  history,  and  prospects  of  Ridge- 

6* 


54  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

way.  In  less  than  an  hour,  the  motions  and  signs  of  his  host- 
ess clearly  intimated  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  retire. 
Being  satisfied,  that,  though  he  were  to  stay  a  week  longer, 
he  would  learn  little  more  of  the  matter  that  had  brought 
him  to  the  place,  he  told  his  entertainer  (whom  he  addressed 
as  Cap'n  Staples)  that  he  would  be  off  betimes  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  ride  as  far  as  Tavish's  before  breakfast.  The  host 
promised  to  feed  his  horse  at  half-past  three  in  the  morning, 
and  call  him  at  half-past  four. 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  for  our  friend  Seth  seemed  to 
have  hardly  fallen  asleep  when  he  was  aroused  by  his  host, 
who  told  him  it  was  past  four  o'clock,  and  breakfast  was 
ready.  He  arose  immediately;  and  on  coming  into  the 
kitchen,  which  served  as  kitchen,  dining-room,  and  sitting- 
room,  he  found  the  family  breakfast  on  the  table,  and  cer- 
tainly abundant  and  wholesome,  if  not  elegant  or  dainty. 
He  at  once  determined  to  take  his  breakfast  before  setting 
out,  and  not  trouble  Tavish's  people. 

"  Jerusha,"  said  the  mother,  "show  the  gentleman  where 
to  wash ;  and  here,  you  jade,  take  this  clean  towel  with  you ! " 

The  girl  thus  addressed  led  the  way  to  a  large  trough,  a 
few  yards  from  the  house,  full  of  running  water;  then,  point- 
ing to  a  dish  of  soft  soap,  she  laid  down  her  towel,  and  ran 
back  into  the  house. 

The  guest  now  laved  himself  in  the  cool,  clear,  limpid 
water;  and  then,  returning  to  the  house,  sat  down  with  the 
family,  and  made  a  substantial  breakfast.  This  done,  he 
asked  for  his  bill ;  and,  being  told  that  it  was  three  and  six- 
pence, he  paid  it  without  grumbling,  and  then  gave  a  cent 
to  each  of  the  children,  except  Jerusha,  —  to  her  he  gave 
a  fourpence. 

Ere  sunset,  he  was  back  to  Montgomery,  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  his  acquaintances  there,  who  were  discussing  in  dif- 
ferent circles  the  reason  of  his  sudden  departure. 

The  next  day,  he  asked  little  Diller  for  his  bill,  and  said  he 
should  take  the  stage  the  following  morning  on  his  way  back 
to  Boston.  The  new*s  soon  spread  through  the  village  that 
the  mysterious  stranger  was  going  away,  and  would  leave  in 
the  stage  the  next  day.  Several  desperate  attempts  were,  ac- 
cordingly, made  to  learn  the  object  of  his  visit  there;  but  he 
gave  no  satisfaction  to  any,  except  that  he  sajd  he  should  be 
back  again  before  long,  and  they  should  certainly  hear  from 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  55 

him  again.  So  he  departed,  and  no  one  was  the  wiser; 
though  it  seemed  to  be  felt,  rather  than  seen,  that  he  had 
been  there  for  no  good  purpose. 

Within  two  weeks  after  the  departure  of  the  inquisitive  and 
mysterious  visitor  from  the  village  of  Montgomery,  the  same 
industrious  antiquary  could  have  been  seen  in  the  old  town 
of  Northampton,  where  he  made  himself  familiar,  equally  as 
in  the  former  place,  with  everybody  who  would  talk  with 
him ;  giving  out  the  same  idea,  —  that  he  was  an  historian :  for 
which  reason  he  sought  the  society  of  the  oldest  inhabitants, 
and  inquired  of  them  the  early  events  of  the  town's  history. 
He  soon  learned  that  there  had  been  a  family  of  Gaults  in 
the  place  long  before ;  but  not  one  of  the  name  was  left. 
The  story  of  the  massacre  at  Gault's  Hill  was  generally 
known,  however,  to  both  old  and  young ;  having  been  hand- 
ed down  from  one  generation  to  another,  like  many  other 
traditions  of  the  suffering  and  wrongs  of  the  pioneers  of 
the  forest.  But  though  there  were  many  people  in  the  place 
who  could  tell  all  the  particulars  of  that  bloody  deed,  and 
more  than  we  know  of  (who  know  all),  yet  so  vague  was 
their  knowledge,  and  so  made  up  of  different  stories  and 
traditions  was  their  information,  that  no  one  of  them  had 
any  distinct  idea  where  Gault's  Hill  was.  Some  thought  it 
was  away  up  in  Vermont ;  others,  in  the  eastern  part  of 
Maine ;  though  many  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  it  must  be 
in  Massachusetts,  and  pretty  well  toward  the  eastern  shore, 
as  only  there,  in  all  this  wide  country,  were  witches,  hobgob- 
lins, and  disembodied  spirits  ever  known  for  a  certainty  to 
show  their  unwelcome,  unearthly,  incorporeal  forms.  Old 
Gen.  Sturgis,  son  of  that  Gen.  Sturgis  who  "fit  the  Brit- 
ish," wYas  now  well  stricken  in  years ;  for,  at  the  time  of  the 
battle  of  Bunker's  Hill,  he  was  a  lad  in  trousers.  He  had 
often  heard  his  father  tell  the  story  of  Gault's  ghosts ;  and 
being  now  old,  independent  in  his  worldly  affairs,  and  living 
in  the  best  house  in  the  place,  he  was  looked  up  to  as  a  sort 
of  oracle,  second  only  to  that  great  Dr.  Edwards,  who,  after 
having  proved  incontestably,  and  much  to  their  consolation, 
that  the  most  of  the  world  would  inevitably  be  damned, 
had  long  rested  from  his  labors.  The  old  general  was 
a  man  of  great  benevolence  of  heart,  but  somewhat  vain 
and  pompous ;  and  was  often  to  be  seen  in  the  most  public 


56  GOMEEY    OP    MONTGOMEEY  : 

places,  such  as  the  town-hall,  the  bar-room  of  the  principal 
hotel,  with  spectacles  sometimes  on  nose,  and  sometimes 
across  his  ample  forehead,  "in  fair,  round  belly,"  with  his 
gold-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  entertaining  his  admiring 
towns-people  with  talk  suited  to  their  taste  or  capacity. 
He  was  not  particular  who  his  auditors  were,  if  they  only 
listened  admiringly  to  his  wise  sayings. 

This  was  exactly  the  man  whom  Seth  Mettlar  would  be 
sure  to  encounter  soon  after  his  arrival ;  and  he  was  the  man, 
of  all  others,  who  could  impart  to  him  most  of  the  informa- 
tion which  he  sought.  The  first  day  after  Seth's  arrival,  as 
he  was  questioning  the  landlord  of  the  hotel  in  regard  to 
the  condition  and  prospects  of  the  town,  the  veteran  general 
came  in  ;  and  the  landlord,  knowing  how  much  the  brigadier 
prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  the  early  history  of  the 
country,  turned  his  guest  over  to  him.  They  at  once  fell 
into  a  long  conversation ;  and  the  subaltern  adroitly  led  the 
superior  to  talk  upon  such  subjects  as  most  interested  him- 
self. 

"You  have  lived  a  long  time  here,  general?"  said  Seth. 

"Yes:  I  was  born  here.  I  know,  I  may  say,  as  much 
about  this  part  of  the  country  as  any  man  in  it." . 

"  Indeed  !  I  am  delighted  to  make  your  acquaintance.  I 
am  engaged  in  writing  a  history  of  the  early  settlements  of 
New  England ;  and  that  business  is  what  has  brought  me 
here  now." 

"  You  have  come  to  the  right  man ;  I  may  say,  the  foun- 
tain-head. Yes,  I  was  born  in  this  town  ;  and,  when  I  was 
five  years  old,  my  father  and  mother  went  to  Boston  on  a 
visit,  and  took  me  with  them :  and,  while  there,  the  battle  of 
Bunker  Hill  took  place ;  and  my  father  fit  in  it,  and  got 
wounded  in  the  leg.  I  can  remember  standing  on  top  of  my 
uncle's  house,  and  watching  with  my  mother  all  that  long 
day.  My  father  sent  us  back  to  Nor'hampton  ;  but  he  staid, 
and  never  even  came  to  see  us  for  two  year.  He  was  a 
brigadier-general  before  the  war  was  over.  I  trust  you  will 
not  fail  to  do  honor  and  justice  to  the  Sturgis  Family  in  your 
history." 

"It  will  be  my  special  object  to  do  that,"  replied  Seth. 
"  Are  there  many  more  families  in  the  place  whose  ancestors 
distinguished  themselves  in  the  Revolution?" 

"  Several  j  but  none  so  much  as  the  Sturgises." 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  0< 

"  Isn't  there  a  family  of  the  name  of  Gault  here  ?  " 

"Gault,  Gault?  I  don't  know  of  any  such  ;  and,  if  there 
were  any  such,  I  should  certainly  know  it.  The  only  Gault 
Family  that  I  ever  heard  of  in  these  parts  was  that  of 
Alpheus  Gault;  and  they  have  been  gone  from  here  ever 
since  I  was  a  boy." 

"  Had  he  a  family  of  children  ?  " 

"If  I  recollect  right,  one  son  and  two  daughters.  The 
daughters  married  a  year  or  two  before  the  old  folks  moved 
away ;  and  both  went  to  live  in  Deerfield,  some  forty  miles 
from  here  to  the  north.  The  son  I  remember  well,  both  on 
account  of  his  being  a  young  man  of  great  enterprise  and 
promise,  and  by  reason  of  the  sad  fortune  that  overtook 
him." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Seth,  his  eyes  brightening,  as  he  now  believed 
he  was  on  the  track  of  the  first  settler  on  Gault's  Hill. 
"What  was  that?" 

"  Well,  it  was  so  long  ago,  that  I  don't  remember  all  the 
particulars ;  but  young  Gault  had  married  the  daughter  of 
old  Godfrey  Cargill,  the  richest  man  in  the  town  at  that  time. 
The  old  man  was  violently  opposed  to  the  match  ;  for  he  was 
very  proud  of  his  daughter  (and  certainly  Jane  Cargill  was 
the  handsomest  girl,  at  that  time,  in  all  this  part  of  the 
country)  ;  and,  as  old  Godfrey  was  rich,  he  expected  she 
would  marry  at  least  a  governor,  judge,  or  member  of  Con- 
gress. But  Gault's  father  was  known  to  be  poor;  and,  what 
was  worse,  he  was  heavily  in  debt  to  Cargill,  who  revenged 
himself  by  foreclosing  the  mortgage  which  he  held  of  his 
farm,  and  turning  him  into  the  street.  Old  Mr.  Gault  was  a 
very  worthy  citizen,  and  was  probably  the  best  informed  and 
most  generally  respected  of  any  man  in  the  town.  But  he 
was  poor;  and  that  was  enough  for  Cargill.  He  roundly 
rated  his  daughter  for  marrying  a  pauper ;  so  that  the  poor 
girl  begged  her  husband  to  take  her  away.  Young  Gault, 
who  had  got  a  few  hundred  dollars  ahead,  was  able  to  get 
enough  more,  so  as  to  pay  off  the  debt  to  Cargill ;  but  the 
old  man  would  not  listen  to  it :  so  it  was  agreed  that  old 
Mr.  Gault  (his  wife  had  been  dead  for  some  years)  should  go 
and  live  with  his  daughter  at  Deerfield,  and  young  Gault 
and  his  wife  would  seek  out  an  Arcadian  home  in  the  wilder- 
ness. But,. before  starting  for  the  forest,  they  went  to  visit 
an  elder  and  married  sister  of  Jane,  who  lived  in  Gloucester." 


58  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  Gloucester!"  exclaimed  Seth,  as  the  narrative  of  the  old 
woman,  relict  of  Goin  Gordon  of  Ridgeway,  flashed  across 
his  mind. 

Yes,  Gloucester,  I  believe  it  is,  where  the  elder  sister  lived. 
She  had  married  an  old  man  there,  —  old  enough  to  be  her 
father;  but  he  was  rich,  and  old  Cargill  approved  the  match. 
The  elder  sister,  Charlotte,  did  not  approve  of  her  father's 
harshness  towards  Jane,  and  urged  them  very  strongly  to 
settle  in  Gloucester ;  and  her  husband  offered  to  render  any 
needed  assistance  in  starting  them  in  life.  But  they  had 
resolved  to  go  into  the  wilderness,  and  be  dependent  on  no 
one  ;  and  so  David  Gault  set  forth  alone  to  look  out  a  choice 
spot  to  settle  on,  leaving  his  wife  with  her  sister  while  he 
was  away.  He  returned  in  about  two  months,  and  reported 
that  he  had  found  the  finest  place  in  all  New  England,  and 
was  eager  to  return  to  it ;  for  he  said,  that,  if  it  should  chance 
to  fall  under  the  eye  of  any  other  person  on  the  same  errand, 
it  would  surely  be  taken  up  before  his  return.  But  there 
was  a  difficulty  in  the  way  of  his  immediate  setting  out; 
and  you  will  understand  the  nature  of  this  difficulty,  when  I 
tell  you,  that,  two  weeks  after  his  return,  his  wife  presented 
him  with  a  young  Gault.  As  soon  as  the  mother  and  child 
were  supposed  to  be  able  to  endure  the  journey,  they  set  forth 
with  their  scanty  effects  for  the  deep,  dark  forest." 

"  Was  this  child  a  boy,  or  a  girl?"  inquired  Seth. 

"If  I  don't  misremember,  it  was  a  boy.  In  fact,  I  know 
it  was  a  boy;  for  years  after,  when  the  story  got  abroad 
how  they  had  all  been  murdered,  the  elder  sister  came  home 
from  Gloucester  to  her  father's,  and  the  affair  was  talked 
about  a  great  deal  in  this  place.  She  took  pains  to  send  a 
man  away  up  there  to  learn  all  the  particulars ;  for,  if  I 
don't  mistake,  she  brought  the  boy,  that  was  not  murdered, 
up  here  to  his  grandfather's.  She  told  how  her  sister  enjoyed 
her  life  in  the  forest,  and  how  her  boy  grew  apace ;  and 
after  a  couple  of  years  she  had  a  little  girl,  and  was  so  happy 
in  her  home  in  the  wilderness,  that  she  never  wanted  to 
leave  it.  Old  Godfrey  Cargill  said  little  about  the  matter, 
and  never  proposed  making  any  inquiry  in  regard  to  poor 
Jane's  death.  On  the  contrary,  he  told  his  other  daughter, 
Ruth,  that  she  must  send  away  from  his  house  the  surviving 
son ;  for  he  could  never  endure  the  sight  of  his  disgraced 
child ;  that  her  punishment  was  a  special  judgment  upon  her 


A   FAMILY    fllSTOEY.  59 

for  disobedience  to  her  father.  Ruth  told  him  that  God 
would  punish  him  for  his  unnatural  cruelty,  and  that  she 
would  never  darken  his  doors  again.  She  left  his  house  the 
same  day ;  and,  the  next  day  being  Sunday,  the  old  man 
sent  a  request  to  the  clergyman  that  he  might  have  the 
prayers  of  the  congregation,  that  the  death  of  his  daughter 
might  be  sanctified  to  his  spiritual  and  eternal  welfare." 

"And  did  the  other  daughter  return  to  Gloucester  with 
the  boy  ?  " 

"So  it  was  reported;  and,  the  day  after  her  return,  her 
husband  died,  and  I  believe  she  never  married  again.  Old 
Cargill  soon  after  had  a  stroke  of  palsy,  and  lost  his  senses 
to  a  great  extent ;  and  it  was  piteous  to  hear  him,  in  his  pain 
and  weakness,  call  for  Jane  to  return.  Ah  !  she  could  never 
return  again ;  and  though  his  other  child  broke  her  vow,  and 
came  back  to  comfort  him,  the  old  man  never  ceased  to  wail, 
and  call  for  Jane,  till  he  died  " 

"  Did  the  widow  continue  to  live  in  Gloucester  after  her 
father's  death?" 

"  Yes :  I  think  so,  at  least.  People  said  she  never  was  the 
woman  she  was  before,  after  the  murder  of  the  Gaults.  At 
the  time  she  was  here,  Parson  Dickerson  tried  to  console  her 
by  telling  her  she  should  imitate  the  Christian  resignation 
and  pious  example  of  her  father,  who,  instead  of  repining  at 
the  Lord's  doing,  became  more  devout  than  ever,  and  gave 
more  liberally  for  the  building-up  of  Zion  than  ever  before. 
When  the  minister  talked  to  her  thus,  some  thought  she  was 
crazy,  she  went  on  so.  She  arraigned  her  own  father  for 
cruelty  and  pride,  that  drove  her  sister  to  the  wilderness, 
where  she  miserably  perished  by  the  hand  of  the  savage ; 
and  she  cursed  the  parson  to  his  face  for  his  acquiescence  in 
the  old  man's  unnatural  conduct.  He  was  greatly  scandal- 
ized at  this  burst  of  passion,  and  threatened  to  send  a  letter 
to  the  church  at  Gloucester,  recommending  the  expulsion  of 
so  refractory  a  member;  but  some  of  his  parishioners  warned 
him  that  the  less  said  on  that  subject  the  better,  and  that,  if 
it  were  to  become  a  matter  of  general  notoriety  and  discus- 
sion, they  must  withdraw  from  all  connection  that  might 
seem  to  approve  his  course." 

"  But  the  boy  —  what  became  of  him  ?  " 

"  He  never  came  here  again,  and  we  lost  sight  of  them  all ; 
for  you  must  know  that  it  was  a  great  while  ago.    There 


60  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

was  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  it  at  the  time ;  for  it  was  a 
strange  and  very  dreadful  affair." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  name  of  this  sister's  husband  ?  " 

"  I  only  remember,  that,  when  she  was  here  the  last  time, 
she  was  called  the  Widow  Carver." 

"  And  she  never  married  again  ?  " 

"  It  strikes  me  you  are  very  curious  about  the  matter,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  stranger." 

"  The  truth  of  history,"  replied  Seth  with  an  air  of  great 
gravity,  "  requires  us  to  be  very  thorough  in  our  searches ; 
and,  before  leaving,  I  shall  be  as  particular  in  gathering  up 
other  facts  of  importance  in  regard  to  the  early  history  of 
other  families.  In  cases  like  this,  I  must  rely  on  verbal 
traditions ;  but  in  a  family  like  yours,  containing  men  of 
eminence,  it  is  easy  to  get  from  them  the  family  records ; 
and,  if  I  could  persuade  you  to  give  me  a  brief  history  of  your 
family,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  incorporate  it  into  my 
book." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  it,"  said  the  general,  draw- 
ing himself  up  with  towering  dignity :  "  I  will  have  it  ready 
for  you  before  your  departure ;  or,  if  not,  I  will  send  it  to 
your  address  in  Boston." 

The  general  now  rose,  and,  shaking  the  historian  by  the 
hand,  walked  out  of  the  hotel,  feeling  a  foot  taller  than  when 
he  entered.  He  did  not  doubt  that  he  had  now  taken  a 
bond  and  mortgage  on  fame  and  immortality. 

No  sooner  had  he  left,  however,  than  the  Boston  antiquary 
said  to  himself,  that  he  thought  he  had  got  all  the  informa- 
tion required  in  regard  to  the  Gaults,  and  would  leave  the 
gallant  general  to  compose  his  Memoir  of  the  Sturgis  Family 
at  his  leisure.  Accordingly,  that  same  afternoon,  he  com- 
menced his  journey  back  to  Boston;  and,  three  days  after, 
he  was  ensconced  as  a  guest  in  the  Massasoit  House  in 
Gloucester.  Here  his  first  inquiry  was  for  the  Widow  Carver ; 
but  the  landlord  told  him  that  there  was  no  such  person  then 
living  in  Gloucester. 

"No  such  person?"  said  he. 

"  No,  sir  :  the  only  Widow  Carver  that  I  ever  knew  in  this 
place  has  been  dead  for  years.  She  had  a  nice  property  left 
her  by  her  husband,  Solon  Carver,  who  died  a  great  while 
ago;  but  she  would  never  marry  again,  though  she  had  some 
excellent  offers.   Truth  is,  stranger,  confidentially, — but  I  beg 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  61 

you  won't  mention  it,  —  my  first  wife  died-  soon  after  Solon 
failed  to  come  to  dinner,  and  ah !  —  well  I  say  nothing ;  but 
I  think  she  might  have  done  worse." 

Seth  saw  at  once  that  his  host  was  blessed  with  a  garru- 
lous, tell-tale  tongue,  and  it  would  be  easy  to  draw  from 
him  all  he  knew  of  any  and  every  body.  So  he  determined 
to  take  his  ease  at  the  Massasoit,  and  watch  his  opportunity 
for  getting  the  desired  information.  He  talked  freely  with 
the  landlord,  and,  with  his  usual  affability  and  tact,  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  people  of  the  village,  who  at  that 
time,  when  it  was  respectable  both  to  drink  and  to  sell  strong 
drink  at  retail,  used  to  congregate  at  the  village  tavern. 

On  learning  that  the  "Widow  Carver  was  dead,  Seth 
thought  it  entirely  safe  to  evince  a  high  degree  of  interest 
in  her  history;  for  no  one  would  probably  question  his  object 
or  motives.  But  he  found  the  landlord  of  the  Massasoit  the 
most  intelligent  and  communicative  of  all  whom  he  ques- 
tioned, as  it  is  a  part  of  the  business  of  the  host  of  a  country 
tavern  to  know  all  about  his  neighbors.  If  he  is  competent 
for  his  high  and  honorable  calling,  he  is  a  living  epitome  of 
history,  as  well  as  a  walking  newspaper,  carrying  in  his  head 
all  the  rumors  of  the  day,  and  prepared  at  all  times  to  regale 
his  guests  on  old  legends  and  recent  events ;  while  his  help- 
meet's care  is  that  they  shall  be  regaled  on  things  more  sub- 
stantial :  the  former  are  thrown  in  gratis,  while  the  latter  are 
charged  in  the  bill. 

Having  made  this  estimate  of  the  jolly  landlord  of  the 
Massasoit,  Seth  Mettlar  sought  an  early  opportunity  to  draw 
him  aside,  and  question  him  about  the  Widow  Carver. 

"  Did  she  leave  any  children  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  a  child.  She  never  had  but  one  of  her  own,  and 
that  died  young." 

"  Had  she  any  with  her  ever  that  were  not  her  own  ?  —  any 
nephews  or  nieces  ?  " 

"  Yes :  she  had  the  most  mischievous  little  devil  of  a 
nephew  that  ever  cut  up  shines  in  all  these  parts.  He  was 
a  good-natured  little  cuss  too :  but  he  was  up  to  more  tricks 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  boys  in  town ;  and,  by  George !  he 
came  near  ruining  my  house." 

"How  was  that?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  one  Fourth  of  July  we  was  having  a  cele- 
bration here;  but  it  was  a  great  while  ago,  and  when  I 


62  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

hadn't  kept  the  Massasoit  so  long  at  I  have  now:  I  have 
kept  it  more'n  forty  year.  That  is  a  great  while  for  a  man  to 
keep  the  same  hotel  in  this  country ;  but,  in  some  of  these 
old  towns  near  the  seacoast,  we  don't  change  about  so  much 
as  they  do  in  other  parts.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  it  was  the 
Fourth  of  July,  and  we  was  having  a  celebration  here ;  and 
we  had  an  oration  by  the  great  Mr.  Quincy  from  Boston. 
We  had  a  procession  and  a  cannon  and  music ;  and  we 
had  a  long  table  in  front  of  the  house,  and  a  grove  to  shade 
it.  And  we  got  up  the  dinner  here  at  the  Massasoit; 
though  not  this  house,  either ;  for  I  rebuilt  the  house  a  few 
years  after ;  but  I  have  had  the  same  sign  always  that  you 
can  see  now.  I  have  it  taken  down,  furbished  up,  and  painted 
every  two  years.  Now,  this  was  in  the  time  of  my  first  wife : 
she  is  dead  now,  poor  woman !  She  died  a  year  or  two  after 
this ;  and  you  can  see  her  grave  in  the  churchyard :  the 
gravestones  cost  me  fourteen  dollars.  She  was  great  on 
making  beefsteak  and  chicken-pies.  Whenever  she  was  ex- 
pecting any  of  the  great  folks  from  Boston,  she  always  had 
one  with  a  top-crust  that  would  melt  in  your  mouth.  Now, 
on  this  occasion,  she  had  two  of  the  best  chicken-pies  she 
could  possibly  make  set  on  the  table ;  one  before  the  orator  : 
he  was  a  senator  in  Congress  too,  from  Boston;  and  he 
had  a  ruffled  shirt  and  gold-headed  cane,  and  silver  buckles 
on  his  shoes.  Well,  the  other  pie  was  set  before  Parson 
Dwight ;  and  my  wife  she  knowed  he  was  mighty  fond  of 
her  chicken-pie,  and  had  made  this  one  rich  as  cream  on  his 
account ;  and  what  do  you  think  that  little  cuss  did  ?  " 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  steal  the  pies." 

"  Steal  'em !  A  thousand  times  worse  than  that.  That 
morning,  when  they  was  all  ready  to  be  put  in  the  oven,  and 
was  standing  in  the  back  part  of  the  kitchen,  he  starts  a  fire 
of  shavings  in  the  porch ;  and  my  wife,  and  the  hired  gals, 
and  all,  thought  the  house  was  afire,  and  run  out  to  put  it 
out;  and  just  then  he  stole  in,  and,  lifting  up  the  kivers  of 
them  two  pies,  he  stole  out  the  wings  of  the  chickens,  and  in 
their  place  put  two  little  dead  kittens  just  born." 

"  That  was  a  sad  joke !     Did  you  catch  him  in  the  act  ?  " 

"  Catch  him,  catch  him !  —  catch  a  weasel  asleep !  He  was 
too  sharp  for  that.  We  never  found  it  out  till  the  pies  was 
baked  and  put  on  the  table.  There  was  a  lot  of  the  great 
Boston  men  here  besides  the  orator.    The  Quincys,  the  Win- 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  63 

throps,  the  Appletons,  the  Otises,  the  Peabodys,  were  as 
thick  as  huckleberries  that  day ;  and  they  come  down  in 
their  fine  carriages,  and  took  up  all  the  best  rooms  in  the 
house.  That  day  was  a  proud  one  for  my  wife.  She  knowed 
nobody  in  Boston  could  make  such  chicken-pies  as  she  did ; 
and  she  sot  up  stairs  so  as  to  look  down  on  the  long  table. 
I  re'ly  believe  she  thought  that  Independence  Day  had  been 
made  on  purpose,  so  that  she  could^how  the  Boston  folks  her 
chicken-pies.  She  was  a  very  good  woman  ;  but  she  hadn't 
much  learnin',  and  didn't  know  that  it  was  all  to  save  the 
country.  The  table  ran  along  near  the  house ;  and  the  presi- 
dent of  the  day,  old  Judge  Bates,  sat  right  opposite  her  win- 
dow, with  the  orator  on  one  side,  and  Parson  Dwight  on  the 
other.  Fact  is,  stranger,  I  was  a  little  curis  myself  to  see  how 
the  dinner  would  pass  off;  and,  after  they  was  all  sot  down  to 
the  table,  I  run  up  stairs,  and  stood  looking  out  of  the  win- 
dow over  my  wife's  shoulders  while  the  parson  was  askin' 
the  blessin'.  When  he  came  to  pray  that  they  might  all  be 
thankful  for  all  God's  mercies,  and  especially  be  duly  grateful 
for  the  repast  spread  before  them,  I  could  hear  my  wife  mut- 
terin',  '  You  may  well  be  grateful ;  for  you  don't  get  such  a 
dinner  as  that  every  day! '  It  was  true  enough,  but  in  a  way 
she  little  suspected.  Her  pride  was  bound  to  have  a  fall. 
She  thought  the  grace  very  short ;  but  she  excused  it,  as  she 
supposed  the  parson  was  in  haste  to  get  his  knife  into  the 
chicken-pie.  But  first  came  the  roast  beef  and  the  roast 
lamb.  She  noticed  that  Parson  Dwight  hardly  tasted  either. 
She  knowed  what  he  was  waitin'  for.  She  was  in  haste  for 
the  moment  of  her  triumph,  and  did  not  doubt  that  no  sooner 
were  the  pies  tasted  than  they  would  forget  all  about  savin' 
the  nation,  and  leave  it  to  Tom  Jefferson  and  destruction. 

"  But  now  the  plates  have  been  changed ;  and  the  orator 
himself  proceeds  to  cut  the  pie  that  is  before  him.  He  cuts 
out  and  lays  on  his  plate  a  big  junk ;  and  now,  stranger,  im- 
agine, if  you  can,  how  he  looked,  how  I  looked,  how  Parson 
Dwight  looked,  how  my  wife  looked,  when  he  took  the  slice 
on  his  plate,  and,  instead  of  a  leg  or  wing  of  a  chicken,  there 
rolled  out  from  under  the  crust  the  head  of  a  young  kitten ! 
All  saw  it,  —  all  them  Bostoners  and  all.  My  wife  she  gave 
a  scream,  and  some  of  the  folks  began  smashing  the  plates  in 
their  fury.  But  the  orator  jumped  up,  and  cried  out  that 
'  some  democrat  had  evidently  been  inside  the  pie,  thinking  it 


64  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

the  Federal  treasury,  and  had  sneaked  out,  and  forgot  his 
head.  If  there  was  any  Jeffersonian  present,  he  would  please 
come  forward  and  claim  it.'  This  sally  served  to  calm  the 
tumult  for  a  time,  and  the  guests  at  the  other  part  of  the 
table  resumed  their  knives  and  forks  ;  and  Parson  Dwight, 
who  had  asked  the  blessing,  could  not  doubt  that  what  was 
under  his  reverend  nose  must  be  free  from  any  thing  '  com- 
mon or  unclean ; '  and  so  Ke  began  to  cut  into  the  chicken-pie 
that  stood  before  hmi,  its  rich,  flaky  crust,  of  which  he  well 
knew  the  flavor,  tempting  him  to  alacrity.  The  eyes  of  all 
near  him  were  upon  him ;  for  a  suspicion  was  lurking  in  their 
minds  that  another  kitten  might  have  been  sacrificed  for  this 
day's  celebration.  But  the  first  slice,  as  it  was  lifted  from  the 
pan,  or  nappy,  dispelled  all  fear.  The  parson  took  a  liberal 
slice  to  himself;  but  he  could  not  wait  to  serve  the  others, 
but  pushed  the  dish  along  to  Judge  Bates,  president  of  the 
day,  who  first  helped  the  orator,  and  then  helped  all  those 
near  him,  and  at  last  took  a  slice  himself,  and  pushed  back 
the  dish  in  front  of  Parson  Dwight,  who,  by  this  time,  had 
nearly  disposed  of  his  first  allotment.  My  wife,  by  this  time, 
had  recovered  herself  in  part,  and  was  listening,  with  all  her 
ears,  for  the  comments  of  the  guests.  '  You  have  got  some- 
body here  that  knows  how  to  make  chicken-pie,'  said  the  ora- 
tor. *  That  is  so,'  said  several  others.  '  Very  good,  consid- 
ering' said  Parson  Dwight ;  his  mouth  so  full  he  could  hardly 
speak,  as  he  crammed  in  the  remainder  on  his  plate,  and 
reached  out  to  secure  the  dish  before  any  one  else  should  get 
a  chance  to  repeat. 

" « Good,  considering'  muttered  my  wife :  ■  I  wish  it  would 
choke  him!' 

"  The  parson  drew  the  nappy  towards  him,  and  yet  about 
one-quarter  of  the  pie  was  unbroken.  He  laid  a  chicken's 
leg  on  his  plate,  and  a  large  piece  of  crust,  and  then  inserted 
the  spoon  under  the  remaining  crust  to  fish  out  another  sa- 
vory morsel.  Egad,  stranger !  he  caught  it ;  for  he  drew 
forth  another  kitten,  that  had  evidently  never  lifted  its  inno- 
cent eyes  to  the  light  of  day. 

"  Stranger,  I  can't  tell  what  happened  after  that.  My  wife 
went  off  into  fits  ;  and  all  the  dishes  on  the  table  was  broken 
all  to  smash,  and  it  was  an  awful  row.  You  could  have  seen 
all  them  Bostoners,  and  others  who  had  eat  of  the  pie,  not 
with  fingers  in  their  mouths,  like  boys  caught  stealing,  but 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  65 

with  fingers  in  their  throats,  trying  to  coax  up  the  chicken- 
pie.  But,  finding  it  loath  to  come  iip,  they  sought  to  neutral- 
ize the  effect  of  kitten  on  the  stomach  by  huge  draughts  of 
brandy  and  Jamaica  rum;  and  I  think  there  were  more 
drunken  people  in  Gloucester  that  night  than  there  ever  has 
been  since.  It  come  nigh  ruining  my  tavern ;  and  would, 
but  for  the  fact  that  people  said  it  was  Pickard's  doings. 
Pickard,  he  kept  the  other  tavern ;  and,  being  a  Democrat, 
folks  said  it  was  one  of  his  tricks  to  get  away  my  custom." 

"Was  it  Pickard?" 

"  No :  it  was  that  scamp,  the  Widow  Carver's  nephew." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  " 

"His  name  was  Randolph  Gault.  But  he  was  always 
called  Dolph.  He  was  a  queer-looking  little  cuss  as  ever 
you  see.  He  had  the  devil's  own  eye  for  mischief;  and  his 
nose  had  been  broken  and  turned  up,  so  that  his  nostrils 
looked  like  two  worm-holes  in  a  board*;  and  he  always  looked 
so  good-natured  and  full  of  fun,  that  everybody  liked  him  in 
spite  of  his  mischief  and  tricks,  except  Parson  Dwight.  The 
parson  said  he  was  an  imp  of  Satan ;  and  they  were  always 
at  war ;  and  the  boy  never  got  the  worst  of  it,  you  may  be 
sure.  At  last,  matters  came  to  a  crisis  when  the  good  man 
refused  to  let  the  schoolmaster  have  a  certificate  to  keep 
school  till  he  promised  to  flog  the  mischief  out  of  Dolph 
Gault.  When  his  aunt  heard  of  this,  she  was  in  a  great  tan- 
trum, —  for  she  thought  every  thing  of  the  boy,  —  and  would 
not  let  him  go  to  school  at  all,  and  was  turned  out  of  the 
church  for  it. 

"That  schoolmaster  had  a  sorry  time  of  it.  Dolph  set 
all  the  other  boys  agin  him,  and  they  played  all  sorts  of 
pranks  on  him.  He  was  the  most  ingenious  cuss  for  mis- 
chief. The  schoolmaster  never  went  to  prayer-meetin'  or 
singin'-school  that  winter  but  what  he  lost  his  hat  or  cloak, 
which  was  sure  to  be  found  the  next  morning  near  the  house 
of  Dolly  Turpie,  who  had  twice  been  unfortunate,  or,  as  she 
expressed  it,  *  fallen  into  sin.'  It  wasn't  to  spite  me  or  my 
wife,  though,  that  the  kittens  was  put  into  the  pies :  it  was 
to  put  the  parson's  nose  out  of  joint." 

"  What  became  of  this  hopeful  youth  ?  " 

u  He  staid  here  with  his  aunt  till  about  fourteen  years 
old;   and  then  went  to  sea,  and  never  come  back." 

"  He  probably  died,  then,  long  ago  ?  " 

6* 


66  GOMEET   OP   MONTGOMERY: 

"  No  :  I  guess  not.  But  folks  thought  he  took  to  bad 
ways,  as  his  aunt  nevej;  said  much  about  him.  But  she 
used  to  get  lots  of  presents  from  somebody,  and  queer  pre- 
sents they  were  too;  such  as  sea-shells  and  fine  feathers 
and  trinkets,  such  as  Steve  Martin  —  him  that  went  to  sea 
—  says  they  have  way  off  in  the  South-Sea  islands.  Some- 
times she  received  things  that  must  have  cost  a  great  deal 
of  money:  and  Parson  D  wight  said  that  Dolph  had  probably 
turned  pirate ;  at  which  the  widow  was  terribly  indignant, 
and  said  that  her  nephew  was  the  best  boy  she  ever  knew." 

"  Was  he  never  heard  of  again  ?  " 

"No  —  yes:  Steve  Martin  said  he  saw  him  in  New  York 
once,  and  asked  him  if  his  name  wasn't  Dolph  Gault,  and  he 

said  no :  it  was  Joe ;   well,  I  forget  Joe  what ;   though 

Steve  said  he  knew  it  was  nobody  but  Dolph  Gault. " 

«  Where  is  this  Steve  Martin  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  been  heard  on  this  four  year.  He  was  lost 
at  sea.  The  vessel  he  sailed  in  was  never  heard  of  after  she 
left  Matanzas  for  Boston." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  recollect  the  name  he  gave 
him?" 

"  Well,  I  might ;  but  it  was  a  curious,  odd  name.  But  I  will 
inquire :  perhaps  some  of  Steve's  folks  may  recollect  it." 

" I  have  a  great  interest  in  this  youth,"  said  Seth.  "He 
was  a  relative  of  mine." 

"  Indeed !  I  always  said  somebody  would  turn  up,  or  that 
he  would  come  back  and  claim  the  property." 

"  What !   had  he  property  ?  " 

"  Yes :  his  aunt  left  him  all  her  property  (and  it  was  a 
good  deal)  if  he  should  come  back  before  the  end  of  fifteen 
year ;  if  not,  the  money  was  to  go,  half  to  the  poor  of  this 
place,  and  half  to  the  poor  of  Nor'hampton." 

"Did  you  ever  know  any  thing  about  the  early  history  of 
this  unfortunate  child  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  everybody  has  heard  of  that.  His  father  and 
mother  was  killed  by  the  Indians  and  British  in  the  Revolu- 
tionary War." 

"  It  is  the  same.  There  is  some  property  still  for  him  if 
he  can  be  found ;  but  that  seems  scarcely  possible.  If  you 
will  find  out  the  name  he  goes  by,  I  will  pay  you  well ;  and, 
if  he  is  ever  found,  I  will  pay  you  a  hundred-dollar  bill." 

"I'll  do  my  best;   but,  you  know,  it  is  a  long  time  since 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  67 

he  left  here.  Some  people  said  he  used  to  come  once  in 
a  while,  very  secretly,  in  his  aunt's  lifetime ;  and,  when  she 
was  questioned  about  it,  she  said  Dolph  knew  his  own  busi- 
ness, and,  if  other  people  would  attend  to  theirs,  it  would 
be  just  as  well  for  them.  She  used  to  throw  out  dark  hints, 
though ;  and,  whenever  any  thing  was  said  about  the  Gault 
murder,  she  would  repeat  time  after  time,  "Murder  will 
out ;  murder  will  out ! ' " 

After  this  conversation  with  the  landlord  of  the  Massasoit, 
Seth  Mettlar  made  further  inquiries  of  other  inhabitants 
of  Gloucester  about  the  well -remembered  youth,  Dolph 
Gault.  But  he  could  learn  nothing  about  him  more  than 
Boniface  had  told  him.  Even  Steve  Martin's  folks  could 
not  remember  precisely  what  name  he  went  by.  It  was 
something  like  Pumpwater  or  Pumphandle,  or  something 
with  a  pump  to  it ;  but,  whatever  it  was,  the  painstaking 
Seth  was  satisfied  he  had  pumped  out  all  the  information  to 
be  had  on  the  subject  in  the  town  of  Gloucester,  when  he 
had  exhausted  the  knowledge  of  Paul  Blossom,  landlord  of 
the  Massasoit. 

The  reader  has  already  discovered  before  this  that  Seth 
Mettlar  is  a  bird  of  ill-omen.  What  is  he  hunting  through 
the  country  for  in  this  mysterious  manner  ?  It  would  be 
good  fortune,  I  suspect,  for  more  than  one  person,  whose 
acquaintance  we  have  made  in  this  history,  if  he  would 
accidentally  break  his  neck.  But,  as  he  will  not  do  it,  he 
must  be  looked  after ;  for  he  is  evidently  plotting  harm  to 
some  of  the  most  important  characters  we  have  yet  encoun- 
tered; and  we  must  try  and  discover  what  it  is  he  is  plotting, 
and  why  he  is  thus  intruding  his  unwelcome  presence. 

Seth  Mettlar  called  himself,  and  was  called  in  the  good 
city  of  Boston,  where  he  lived,  a  lawyer.  He  passed,  too, 
for  a  man  of  high  respectability;  for  he  was  precise,  me- 
thodical, and  outwardly  correct.  He  had  never  been  known 
to  wear  but  one  suit  of  clothes  for  twenty  years ;  at  least, 
no  one  of  his  acquaintance  could  ever  tell  that  the  coat  of 
to-day  was  not  the  coat  of  yesterday,  last  week,  or  last  year. 
It  was  always  a  nice  fitting  dress-coat,  neither  too  new  nor 
too  old.  How  the  transition  from  one  fashion  to  another  — 
from  the  short  waist,  long  skirt,  and  high,  stiff  collar,  to 
the  lighter  collar,  long  waist,  and  broader  flaps  —  was  effected, 
no  one  knew.    But  he  was  always  dressed  so  neatly,  and 


68  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

yet  so  far  in  the  rear  of  the  latest  fashion,  that  his  outer 
garb  never  attracted  attention,  and  never  diverted  the  eyes 
of  people  to  look  at  any  part  of  him  but  his  respectable 
close  -  shaved,  sandy -complexioned,  slightly -rubicund  face. 
His  hair  was  of  that  color,  that,  if  it  ever  turns  white,  the 
process  is  imperceptible,  as  it  mellows  into  lighter  shades 
without  revealing  the  white  intruders  that  warn  the  pos- 
sessor of  raven  locks  of  the  passing  years.  It  was  always 
nicely,  and  even  adroitly  combed,  so  as  to  make  his  forehead 
appear  higher  and  broader  than  it  really  was ;  and  his  thin 
lips  had  been  equally  jockeyed  to  display  a  set  of  faultless 
white  teeth,  that  smiled  and  smiled  upon  you,  whether  he 
was  talking  or  listening.  His  collar  and  cravat  were  always 
of  spotless  white ;  and  a  stranger  would  have  taken  him 
for  a  clergyman  sooner  than  a  lawyer.  But,  whatever  you 
might  suspect  his  vocation  to  be,  you  would  know  that  he 
was  a  man  of  the  nicest  method  and  order;  and  his  very 
appearance  was  an  advertisement  to  business,  and  procured 
him  all  he  had.  This  business  was  not  of  that  kind  that 
took  him  into  the  courts;  but  it  was,  nevertheless,  re- 
spectable and  remunerative,  if  not  lucrative.  His  office  was 
in  the  third  story  of  a  large  block  filled  with  lawyers'  offices ; 
and,  in  confused  cases  in  which  complicated  and  long- 
standing accounts  were  to  be  sifted,  his  aid  was  considered 
invaluable ;  and  his  briefs  were  such  lucid  abstracts  of  the 
cases  submitted  to  him,  that  he  had  come  to  be  thought  so 
valuable  as  junior  council,  that  he  could  choose  his  cases,  and 
almost  dictate  his  terms. 

Such  being  the  reputation  of  Seth  Mettlar,  it  was  but 
natural  that  when  old  Col.  Scranton  died,  being  a  nona- 
genarian, and  leaving  a  large  amount  of  property  scattered 
in  various  parts  of  New  England,  with  books  and  accounts 
in  almost  irretrievable  confusion,  his  executors  should  engage 
the  services  of  the  precise  and  methodical  Seth  Mettlar  to 
bring  order  out  of  chaos,  and  arrange  his  papers  so  that  they 
could  understand  them.  The  employment  was  congenial  to 
the  tastes  of  the  attorney ;  and  an  immense  quantity  of  books, 
deeds,  mortgages,  notes-of-hand,  bonds,  letters,  and  loose 
papers  of  almost  every  variety,  were  deposited  in  his  office, 
which  the  practised  accountant  proceeded  to  examine  and 
arrange  with  scrupulous  fidelity.  He  first  assorted  the 
papers  according  to  their  date,  paying  little  regard  to  their 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  69 

contents ;  and  then,  beginning  back  with  the  first  business 
transactions  of  the  deceased,  he  endeavored  to  trace  up  his 
business-life,  and  to  learn  the  history  and  course  of  each 
transaction,  and  hence  deduce  its  legal  effect  and  bearing. 

Col.  Scranton,  like  many  bold  and  successful  speculators, 
had  been  a  man  of  slack  business  habits ;  having  been  more 
prone  to  regard  general  results  than  attend  to  details. 
His  father  had  left  him  a  considerable  fortune,  which  he  had 
made  in  navigation  :  and  the  son  had  the  forecast  to  perceive, 
while  yet  a  young  man,  that  America  was  a  land  of  promise ; 
that  it  must  increase  rapidly  in  population ;  and  that  in  broad 
acres  was  the  surest  fortune.  So  he  bought  large  tracts  of 
land  in  various  parts ;  and,  before  the  first  tree  had  been  felled, 
he  owned  townships  and  half-townships  in  three  States, — 
Maine,  New  Hampshire,  and  Vermont.  For  these  he  paid, 
in  some  instances,  less  for  a  whole  township  than  a  single 
hundred-acre  lot  was  worth  during  his  own  lifetime.  He 
was  a  sagacious  and  far-seeing  man,  and  by  sheer  liberality 
grew  rich  apace.  Instead  of  holding  on  to  his  lands  for  high 
prices,  he  sold  lots  very  cheap  to  desirable  settlers,  knowing 
that,  as  the  country  became  populated,  the  residue  of  his  lands 
would  increase  in  value.  As  he  waxed  old,  however,  he  sold 
off  the  remnants  of  his  early  purchases,  and  invested  his 
money  in  improved  city  property;  so  that  in  his  latter  years 
he  had  little  to  do  but  receive  his  rents,  and  witness  the 
augmentation  of.  his  estate.  His  children  were  all  married, 
and  settled  within  a  stone's-cast  of  his  own  door ;  and  as  they 
were  all  honored  and  respected,  and  he  was  of  a  benevolent 
and  tolerant  disposition,  his  declining  years  were  as  calm 
and  happy  as  it  is  often  the  lot  of  man  to  experience  in  this 
world. 

Seth  Mettlar  began  his  investigations  with  his  wonted 
method  and  industry,  and  found  that,  rich  as  (JJol.  Scranton 
was  when  he  died,  he  would  have  been  much  richer  had  he 
held  on  to  some  of  his  land  purchases  in  the  country.  In  one 
instance,  a  large  village,  which  has  since  become  an  important 
city,  was  entirely  situated  on  a  tract  of  land,  that,  thirty  years 
before,  the  colonel  had  sold  for  five  hundred  dollars.  But,  as 
it  was,  he  had  been  rich  enough,  and  that  sufficed ;  and  so 
the  lawyer  traced  along  his  affairs,  finding  now  and  then  an 
odd  corner,  that,  from  accident  or  neglect,  had  never  been 
sold. 


70  GOMERY   OP  MONTGOMERY: 

He  had  been  at  work  some  two  or  three  weeks  on  these 
papers,  when  he  opened  a  large  bundle  of  letters,  and,  looking 
over  them,  found  one,  not  addressed  to  Col.  Scran  ton, 
but  to  one  David  Gault.  This  letter  he  opened,  and  found 
within  it  a  deed  of  a  tract  of  land  situated  a  long  distance 
from  Boston.  The  letter  was  brief  and  business-like,  and 
simply  stated  that  the  money  stipulated  to  be  paid  for  the 
land,  together  with  a  note  for  the  balance,  had  been  received, 
and  the  deed  made  out,  and  would  be  sent  by  the  first  oppor- 
tunity ;  that  for  the  payment  of  the  note  he  might  take  his 
own  time,  and,  if  not  convenient,  need  not  pay  it  at  all,  but 
could  at  some  future  time  render  such  assistance  in  survey- 
ing the  township,  and  disposing  of  lots  to  other  purchasers, 
as  he  thought  would  be  reasonable. 

Seth  looked  at  the  deed.  It  was  a  singular  instrument,  as 
showing  the  difficulty  of  description,  and  of  definitely  fixing 
and  defining  the  boundaries  of  land  in  unsurveyed  and  little 
known  districts.  Except  in  the  boundaries,  however,  it  was 
in  the  usual  form.  The  initial  point  was  a  spring  on  the  side 
of  a  hill,  and  known  as  "  The  Weeping  Angel."  From  this 
point,  a  line  due  south-west  was  to  be  struck;  and  at  a  dis- 
tance of  one  hundred  rods,  in  a  straight  line  from  the  spring, 
was  to  be  one  corner  of  the  lot.  From  there  the  line  was  to 
run  due  north  three  hundred  rods ;  thence  due  east  three 
hundred  rods;  thence  due  south  three  hundred  rods;  thence 
due  west  three  hundred  rods,  to  the  place  of  beginning. 

Why  this  deed  had  never  been  delivered,  did  not  appear; 
and  Seth,  who  had  no  recollection  of  ever  having  heard  the 
name  of  Gault,  concluded,  that,  for  some  reason  unknown  to 
him,  another  deed  had  been  given,  perhaps  with  different 
boundaries;  and  this,  from  some  oversight,  though  useless, 
had  never  been  destroyed.  He  laid  it  one  side,  however, 
and  went  on  with  his  labor ;  and  the  next  day  he  found  a  can- 
celled bond  for  a  deed  of  the  same  property  to  one  Robert 
Gomery.  Comparing  this  with  the  deed,  he  saw  it  was  dated 
some  three  years  later;  but  the  description  was  the  same, 
the  one  being  evidently  copied  from  the  other.  "There 
must  be  something  wrong  here,"  said  Seth  to  himself.  "This 
deed  to  Gault  is  duly  signed,  witnessed,  and  sealed ;  and  the 
property  was  undoubtedly  paid  for,  as  is  proved  by  the  letter. 
'Tis  clearly  a  matter  the  family  know  nothing  about;  and 
now,  Seth,  just  keep  your  own  counsel,  andvsee  what  comes 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY. 


71 


of  it.  There  may  be  something  better  than  fees  in  this  case, 
after  all.  If  so,  why  shouldn't  you  make  it  as  well  as  the 
next  man?  The  heirs  have  got  enough  without  this,  and 
they  can  never  miss  any  thing;  for  they  will  never  know  any 
thing  about  it." 

With  this  commendable  intention  of  turning  an  honest 
penny,  he  put  the  deed,  the  letter,  and  the  bond  in  his  own 
pocket,  and  went  on  with  the  other  letters  and  accounts. 

After  this  discovery,  the  mind  of  Seth  Mettlar  was  not  so 
entirely  devoted  to  the  work  in  hand  as  it  had  been.  It  was 
ever  reverting  to  that  Gault  property,  wherever  it  might  be. 
From  the  description  in  the  deed,  it  was  plain  that  it  was 
situated  a  considerable  distance  to  the  north  or  north-west  of 
Boston ;  and,  as  the  names  Gault  and  Gomery  were  constantly 
recurring  to  his  mind,  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  thriving 
town  of  Montgomery  might  be  the  identical  place.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  place,  except  that  it  existed,  and  was  a 
village  of  some  importance ;  and  so  he  sought  a  dry-goods 
jobber  of  his  acquaintance,  whom  he  knew  to  have  large 
dealings  with  that  part  of  the  country,  and  asked  him  if  he 
had  any  knowledge  of  such  a  place. 

"Indeed  I  have,"  answered  the  merchant.  "Our  house 
has  sold  goods  to  go  there  for  this  ten  years  past ;  and  only 
last  fall  I  went  up  there  to  look  after  a  poor  customer." 

"Is  there  a  family  of  the  name  of  Gomery  there?"  he 
further  inquired. 

"  Yes :  it  is  the  principal  family  of  the  place,  and,  for  a 
country  village,  is  very  rich." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  it  ?  " 

"One  of  the  most  thriving  inland  villages  I  have  ever  seen. 
There  is  a  fine  water-power,  and  large  saw  and  grist  mills, 
besides  a  fulling-mill  and  carding-machine,  and  every  thing 
that  any  village  of  that  size  ever  has." 

"  Is  it  a  level  or  hilly  country  ?  " 

"Rather  hilly.  The  large  hill  at  the  south-west  of  the 
village  has  one  of  the  finest  prospects  I  know  of  anywhere. 
The  town  took  its  name  from  that.  The  Gomery  Family 
that  I  was  speaking  of  first  settled  there;  and  so  the  hill 
was  called  Montgomery,  and  after  that  the  village.  You 
must  have  heard  of  that  place  when  you  were  a  boy.  It  is 
the  same  place  where  the  Gault  Family  were  murdered  by 
the  British  and  Indians  in  the  time  of  the  Revolution." 


72  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  do  remember  something  about  such  an 
affair.     Wasn't  there  a  famous  spring  in  the  place  ?  " 

"Ah,  yes!  and  I  went  up  to  see  it;  and  they  say  it  looks 
just  as  it  did  fifty  years  ago.  The  Indians  used  to  hold 
their  powwows  near  it ;  and  they  first  named  it  the  '  Weeping 
Angel.' " 

Seth,  having  gained  all  the  information  he  desired,  bade  the 
merchant  good-morning,  and  returned  to  his  office.  He  had 
ascertained  where  the  tract  of  land  was  situated  that  Col. 
Scranton  had  sold  to  David  Gault,  and  the  deed  of  which 
was  in  his  own  pocket.  He  had  also  learned  that  the  tract 
was  of  great  value;  and  he  resolved  to  bide  his  time. 

It  was  six  months  after  this  before  the  affairs  of  the  Scranton 
Estate  were  so  far  arranged  and  disposed  of,  that  the  service- 
able and  respectable  Seth  could  leave  the  city,  and  go  in 
search  of  the  Gault  Property.  When  he  was  at  liberty  to 
leave,  however,  he  set  forth,  and  made  directly  to  Montgomery 
Village,  and  took  up  his  lodgings  at  Diller's  Tavern,  where 
we  first  met  him,  and  where  we  have  already  observed  his 
curious  investigations.  It  was  some  two  months  after  his 
arrival  there  before  he  got  back  to  Boston ;  and,  the  very 
next  day  after  his  return,  an  advertisement  appeared  in  the 
"Advertiser  and  Post,"  to  the  effect,  that  if  Randolph  Gault 

would  inquire  at  the  office  of  Seth  Mettlar,  No.  27,  

Street,  third  story,  he  would  learn  something  greatly  to  his 
advantage. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  73 


CHAPTER    V. 


"  I  have  lived  long  enough :  my  May  of  life 
Is  fallen  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf; 
And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age, 
As  honor,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends, 
I  must  not  look  to  have,  but  in  their  stead 
Curses,  not  loud,  but  deep,  mouth-honor,  breath, 
Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  but  dare  not."  — MACBETH. 

It  was  only  a  few  days  after  the  dinner  given  by  Sir  Hen- 
derson Strongham,  as  described  in  the  last  chapter  but  one, 
that  our  friends  Fogue  and  Goraery  left  England  for  the 
Continent,  where  they  proposed  to  make  a  short  tour,  and 
thence  return  to  the  United  States.  But  Joe  Pumpagin 
had  not  yet  accomplished  his  business ;  and,  though  hard 
pressed  by  his  old  friend  Theron  to  accompany  them,  he  de- 
clined. He  had  been  present  in  the  kitchen  at  the  time  the 
dinner  was  in  progress ;  and,  when  the  news  of  the  sudden 
indisposition  of  Lord  Maccleton  reached  there,  he  had  no 
doubt  that  an  explosion  of  some  kind  had  taken  place  be- 
tween him  and  Lady  Beresford.  The  next  day,  he  ques- 
tioned Theron  closely  on  the  affair,  and  from  him  he  learned 
all  the  particulars  without  leading  him  to  suppose  he  was 
moved  by  any  thing  more  than  his  habitual  curiosity. 

Lord  Maccleton  was  now  become  a  feeble  and  tottering 
old  man.  It  was  nearly  sixty  years  that  he  had  walked  the 
earth  with  the  horrid  vision  of  the  Gault  massacre  before  his 
eyes ;  and  now  it  seemed  that  all  his  pride  of  family,  his 
ambitious  schemes,  were  to  come  to  nought,  and  he  was  to 
be  held  up  to  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  the  world,  and  the 
infamy  of  his  life  mercilessly  exposed.  The  estates  that  he 
had  hoped  would  descend  to  the  children  of  Lady  Beresford, 
and  which  were  to  keep  up  the  name  and  title  of  Maccleton, 
would  revert  to  the  heirs  of  his  first  wife  ;  and  it  would  be 
proved  that  Lady  Beresford  was  not  his  daughter,  but  a  sup- 
posititious child  that  he  had  picked  up  to  replace  his  own  that 

VOL.    II.  7 


74  GOMEEY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

had  died  in  infancy.  Then,  too,  the  fearful  tale  of  Gault's 
Hill  would  become  known  to  all ;  and,  of  all  men  scorned 
and  abhorred  throughout  the  land,  he  would  be  most  univer- 
sally execrated. 

And,  for  a  final  exit  like  this  from  life's  stage,  he  hail  borne 
through  the  weary  years  the  miserable  existence  of  a  crimi- 
nal, perpetually  haunted  by  the  apparition  of  his  own  crimes. 
Why  had  he  not  died  long  ago,  and  ere  the  danger  of  any 
exposure  such  as  now  was  impending  over  bim  ?  Why  had 
he  lived  so  long?  Few  men  with  quiet  consciences  and  hap- 
py homes  lived  to  be  so  old  as  he ;  but  even  Death  seemed  to 
be  in  league  with  other  demons  to  torture  him.  Such 
thoughts  came  crowding  so  thickly  upon  him,  that  he  avoided 
the  sight  of  everybody,  and,  retiring  to  the  hall,  gave  out 
word  that  he  should  be  busily  engaged  for  some  weeks,  and 
did  not  wish  to  be  interrupted. 

But  he  did  not  thus  escape  the  watchful  eye  of  Joe  Pum- 
pagin.  Joe  had  so  attached  himself  to  the  head  steward  of 
Maccleton  Hall,  that  he  was  always  in  demand  ;  and  no  one 
suspected  that  behind  those  merry  eyes,  and  that  funny  face, 
there  was  lurking  a  most  desperate  and  unforgiving  purpose. 

Yet  Joe's  feelings  towards  the  object  of  his  vengeance 
were  not  those  of  personal  vindictiveness.  He  had  no  desire 
to  inflict  bodily  pain  or  pecuniary  loss  on  the  man  who  had 
committed  the  awful  crimes  against  his  father  and  mother, 
and  had  caused  him  to  be  a  wandering  vagabond  through 
the  world.  He  was  not  even  conscious  of  a  vindictive 
thought  towards  the  author  of  all  this.  He  only  felt  that  he 
was  the  instrument  of  punishment,  in  the  order  of  Nature, 
to  execute  the  decrees  of  justice,  and  followed  the  course 
he  did  as  the  clearly  defined  line  of  duty.  It  was  not  vin- 
dictiveness or  hate  that  impelled  him :  it  was  the  hand  of 
natural  justice.  Except  for  his  connection  with  the  Gault 
massacre,  Lord  Maccleton  was  to  him  as  any  other  man ; 
and  had  he  known  of  his  having  committed  any  other  of- 
fence, more  heinous  if  possible  than  this,  ogainst  other  par- 
ties, he  would  have  thought  or  cared  no  more  for  it  than  if 
it  had  been  committed  by  some  one  of  whom  he  had  never 
seen  or  heard  before.  But  his  part  in  the  fearful  tragedy 
was  that  of  an  avenger:  he  accepted  it  as  such,  and  for 
many  years  had  pursued  his  object  with  as  unhesitating  a 
purpose  as  most  men  pursue  those  avocations  that  bring  gain 


•  A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  75 

to  their  stores.  His  resources  and  ingenuity,  we  have  seen, 
were  very  great ;  and  even  away  off  here  at  the  hall,  where 
all  was  so  quiet  and  beautiful,  he  would  every  day  contrive 
some  means  to  recall  more  vividly  the  recollection  of  the 
Gault  tragedy.  During  the  time  that  the  old  Indian  had 
quartered  himself  upon  him  in  his  wilderness  home,  he  had 
learned  from  the  hideous  savage  a  peculiar  whoop,  such  as 
he  had  never  heard  before  or  since.  It  was  not  simply  an 
Indian  cry ;  but  at  first  it  was  a  long,  deep,  savage  howl, 
breaking  soon  into  a  womanlike  screech,  and  then  the  weak 
scream  or  shriek  of  a  child.  This  cry  the  old  savage  used 
to  repeat  again  and  again  as  he  lay  on  the  floor  of  Joe's 
cabin  ;  and,  from  the  indistinct  mutterings  he  made,  it  was 
clear  that  he  was  rehearsing  in  his  mind  the  terrible  scenes 
of  years  long,  long  agone.  This  cry,  when  Joe  came  to 
know  the  Indian,  he  had  no  doubt  was  an  imitation  of  the 
noises  made  at  the  time  of  the  Gault  massacre ;  and,  if  it  left 
such  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  the  rude  savage,  what 
must  it  have  been  on  that  of  a  man  educated  and  sensitive  like 
Lord  Maccleton  ?  Joe  had  learned  to  mimic  the  sound  (as 
he  was  clever  at  imitation  as  at  any  thing  else)  ;  and  now, 
it  occurred  to  him,  was  a  favorable  opportunity  to  try  its 
potency  on  the  nerves  of  the  lord  of  the  manor. 

He  had  resolved  on  something  of  this  kind  some  time 
before ;  and,  thinking  it  might  facilitate  his  purpose,  he  had, 
before  leaving  London,  procured  a  cane  to  be  made,  about  four 
feet  long,  that  would  open  and  shut  like  a  telescope,  and  very 
similar  to  the  patent  fishing-rods  that  were  subsequently  in- 
vented for  the  convenience  of  the  disciples  of  Izaak  Walton. 
Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  but  the  first  hint  of  that  ingenious  con- 
trivance was  first  given  by  Joe  Pumpagin  to  the  Balls.  Tak- 
ing an  opportunity,  when  no  one  was  in  sight,  Joe  contrived  to 
break  out  a  small  hole  in  a  pain  of  glass  in  a  window  of  his 
lordship's  dormitory ;  and  the  same  night,  at  the  hour  when 
he  knew  his  infallibility  first  ventured  to  court  his  pillow,  and 
when  the  other  persons  on  the  premises  were  likely  to  be  in 
their  soundest  sleep  (that  is,  about  three  hours  past  midnight), 
he  left  his  room,  and  stationed  himself  directly  in  front  of 
his  lordship's  window.  He  had  not  yet  retired  ;  but  Joe  saw 
him  approach  the  window,  and,  raising  the  sash,  look  out 
into  the  darkness.  He  turned  his  face  sideways,  so  that  the 
light  within  the  room  clearly  revealed  his  features ;  and  there 


76  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

was  such  a  look  of  agony,  despair,  and  grief  upon  them,  as 
Joe  had  never  seen  before.  But  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that 
the  sight  of  such  misery  bad  any  tbing  to  do  with  him.  The 
agonized  features  awoke  no  sentiment  of  pity  in  his  mind. 
He  only  saw  in  the  wretched  face  of  the  old  man  the  hard 
lines  of  inexorable  law ;  and  he  thought  no  more  of  his  own 
agency  than  as  of  a  necessary  part  of  the  great  enginery  of 
the  universe,  that  works  out  its  destinies  with  the  rigidity 
of  fate. 

The  old  man  turned  away,  the  window  was  closed,  and 
soon  the  light  disappeared ;  and  at  last,  as  Joe  imagined,  the 
troubled  mind  of  the  old  man  was  seeking  in  sleep  a  tem- 
porary oblivion  of  its  miseries.  Then  it  was  that  Joe 
stepped  forth  ;  and,  having  adjusted  his  hollow  rod,  he  ap- 
plied one  end  to  the  broken  window-pane  above  his  head,  and 
putting  his  lips  to  the  other  end,  that  was  dished  out  in  the 
manner  of  the  mouth  of  a  speaking-trumpet,  he  began  with 
the  deep,  heavy  sound  that  he  had  learned -from  the  old  In- 
dian, and  then  followed  the  scream  as  of  a  woman,  and  then 
the  cries  of  a  child.  But  this  noise  had  not  ceased  before 
another,  much  louder,  was  heard  within  the  room  above. 
The  voice  of  the  unhappy  man  within  could  be  heard  call- 
ing out  in  an  agony  of  terror,  and  shouting  for  help. 

No  sooner  had  Joe  heard  the  terror-stricken  voice  of  his 
lordship  than  he  quietly  withdrew  to  his  own  room,  and 
threw  off  his  clothes  so  as  to  be  duly  unprepared.  The  ser- 
vants, alarmed  by  the  unusual  noise,  came  running  out  in 
great  terror,  all  in  their  night-clothes,  armed  with  brooms, 
fire-shovels,  and  tongs,  and  whatever  else  came  to  hand.  They 
dared  not  venture  far  into  the  darkness,  though  their  master 
was  shouting  furiously  for  help,  and  directly  came  rushing 
through  the  house,  and  dashing  down  stairs,  shouting  "  Mur- 
der, death,  devils,  and  furies ! "  But  his  very  calls  for  help 
frightened  them,  and  drove  them  back  to  their  rooms,  where 
they  barricaded  their  doors  ;  for  they  all  believed  him,  if  not 
actually  mad,  at  least  as  troubled  with  "thick-coming  fan- 
cies;" and,  if  not  now  affrighted  by  lesser  spirits,  they  thought 
that  the  Devil  himself  had  come  to  claim  him.  They  dared 
not  venture  to  his  aid,  though  he  called  piteously  for  help ; 
for  they  feared,  that,  if  the  old  enemy  of  the  saints  —  of 
whom  the  born  lords  were,  of  course,  the  most  shining  lights 
—  had  come  to  claim  one  that  had  fallen  into  his  power, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  77 

he  would  catch  up  some  others  if  he  found  them  "lying 
round  loose  "  ?  Directly  a  light  was  seen  approaching ;  and  the 
cheery  voice  of  Joe  was  heard  calling  out,  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  Having  returned  to  his  room,  he  had  no  sooner  divested 
himself  of  part  of  his  clothing,  and  lit  a  candle,  than  he  sallied 
forth,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  calling  out  incoherently,  as  if  he 
had  been  aroused  from  a  four-o'olock-in-the-morning  sleep. 
Hearing  his  voice,  and  seeing  the  light  moving  about,  the  other 
servants  ventured  from  their  rooms;  and,  the  doors  being 
opened,  Joe  entered  the  main  hall,  calling  out  in  a  stentorian 
voice,  and  asking  what  was  up  that  they  could  not  let  honest 
folks  sleep.  The  old  man  was  still  calling  out  piteously ;  and 
Joe  led  the  way  to  where  he  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 
In  his  flight,  his  weak  and  aged  limbs  had  been  unable  to  save 
him  from  falling ;  and  he  lay  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  bruised 
and  helpless,  shrinking  and  groaning,  the  very  picture  of  re- 
morse and  terror.  The  servants  took  hold  of  him  to  carry 
him  back  to  his  own  room;  but  he  begged  them  to  take  him 
to  any  part  of  the  house  but  that;  and  he  was  accordingly 
borne  away  to  a  room  in  a  distant  part  of  the  hall.  Here  he 
was  laid  upon  a  bed ;  and,  bidding  them  not  to  leave  him  alone, 
he  closed  his  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the  horrors  of  the  night. 

The  reader  has  observed  long  before  this  that  the  strange 
apparitions  at  Gault's  Hill  for  years  after  the  massacre,  and 
which  at  first  were  regular  in  their  appearance  every  night 
at  the  same  hour,  gradually  became  uncertain  and  fitful  in 
their  visits,  until,  in  these  later  years,  they'have  appeared  only 
at  very  rare  intervals.  But  it  would  appear,  that,  whenever 
the  mind  of  Lord  Maccleton  was  unusually  disturbed  and 
torn,  at  the  same  hour  and  minute  —  making  allowance  for 
the  longitudinal  difference  —  the  same  sights  and  sounds  as 
were  witnessed  by  Robert  Gomery  and  others,  many,  many 
years  before,  were  seen  and  heard  in  and  about  the  dilapidat- 
ed remains  of  the  old  house  that  had  been  the  scene  of  the 
dreadful  tragedy.  Joe  had  been  aware  of  this  fact  for  a  long 
time ;  and  the  next  morning  he  jotted  down  in  a  memoran- 
dum-book the  day  of  the  occurrences  now  recorded,  and  said 
to  himself,  "  We  will  see  now  what  happened  on  the  hill  last 
night."  It  was  the  night  of  the  22d  of  February  ;  and,  on 
his  return,  he  learned,  that,  on  that  night,  the  anniversary  ball 
of  Washington's  birthday  had  been  given  as  usual  at  Diller's 
Tavern.  The  dancing  began  early,  and  broke  off  early  ;  that 
7* 


78  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

is,  it  began  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  ceased  at  half- 
past  eleven  in  the  evening.  There  was  a  hired  man  on  the 
Gomery  Place  at  that  time,  who  had  been  engaged  byDiller 
to  lend  assistance,  on  this  extra  occasion,  at  the  stable ;  and  he 
returned  to  the  hill,  and  reached  the  house  at  the  same  mo- 
ment that  a  more  ambitious  spark  arrived,  bringing  home  a 
young  lady  that  was  visiting,  at  the  time,  at  the  house.  The 
fair  maid  had  but  just  stepped  inside  the  door  when  a  strange 
noise  was  heard  in  the  direction  of  the  old  house  ;  and  the 
two  men,  each  gathering  courage  from  the  presence  of  the 
other,  ran  out  to  look  for  the  cause  of  it;  and,  sure  enough, 
the  old  apparition,  such  as  they  had  heard  of  a  thousand  times, 
but  never  seen,  was  clearly  before  'their  eyes.  Then  followed 
the  same  strange  sounds  which  tradition  reported  as  having 
once  haunted  the  place.  The  next  day,  the  circumstance  was 
talked  about  in  the  house ;  and  the  young  lady  said,  that,  a 
month  before,  she  had  heard  an  unusual  noise  at  about  the 
same  time  of  night,  and  getting  up,  and  looking  out  of  her 
window,  a  strange  and  lurid  light  was  seen  in  the  old  hovel, 
that  soon  went  out;  after  which  she  fancied  she  heard. the 
screaming  and  crying  of  a  child.  This  was  the  first  night 
after  her  arrival  at  the  hill ;  and  Joe  learned  by  comparing 
dates  when  he  came  to  the  hill,  it  was  same  day  that  Sir 
Henderson  Strongham  gave  the  great  dinner,  to  which  Fogue 
and  Gomery  had  been  invited. 

As  Lord  Maccleton  lay  upon  his  bed  crushed  and  discom- 
fited, it  seemed  to  him  that  universal  anarchy  was  coming 
upon  the  world.  All  his  cherished  ideas  and  unquestioned 
convictions  seemed  to  be  giving  way,  and  all  was  a  haze  to 
his  mind.  He,  even  he,  was  held  to  an  accountability  for 
acts  towards  those  to  whom  men  of  his  class  were  in  no  way 
accountable.  How  was  this  ?  Were  the  laws  of  Nature 
changed  ?  Was  it  come  to  this,  that  one  of  the  old  nobility, 
of  that  class  which  in  all  things  was  to  be  imitated,  and  in 
few  things  to  be  questioned,  was  to  be  made  to  repent  for 
acts  towards  those  who  had  no  rights  that  they  were  bound 
to  respect?  Had  not  the  experience  of  ages  sanctioned  and 
sanctified  the  privileges  of  immunity  from  moral  responsibil- 
ity ?  Had  not  the  rebellion  against  it  been  followed  by  a 
wholesome  re-action,  that  had  caused  the  bones  of  its  sternest, 
bravest  leader  to  be  disinterred  and  exposed,  a  ghastly  spec- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  79 

tacle,  to  all  posterity,  to  admonish  future  generations  of  the 
immaculate  privileges  of  nobility?  Was  he  not  of  that  class? 
and  was  he  not  of  those  anointed  to  decide  on  the  rubric  and 
the  liturgy,  on  what  is  orthodox  and  what  is  heterodox  ?  Is 
it  not  in  the  established  order  of  things  that  he  is  a  guide  and 
example,  a  being  of  a  superior  order  ?  and  when  he  and  his 
peers  decide  on  what  is  right  and  true,  both  in  regard  to  things 
temporal  and  things  spiritual,  is  it  not  rank  heresy,  presump- 
tuous doubt,  and  unpardonable  sin,  to  question  their  infallibil- 
ity ?  And  has  it  come  to  this,  that  there  is  a  power  in  Nature 
to  overwhelm  them  with  remorse  ?  The  insolence  of  the  idea ! 
To  give  in  charity  and  live  generously  was  consistent  with 
their  duties;  but  to  be  responsible  for  deceiving  or  trampling 
on  the  poor  helpless  wretches  below  them  was  so  palpable  a 
violation  of  privilege,  that  an  act  of  Parliament  must  be  at 
once  procured  to  forbid  it.  What  if,  by  fraud,  violence,  and 
deception,  they  persuade  vain  and  indigent  beauties  from  the 
path  of  virtue:  do  they  not  make  ample  reparation  by  allotting 
a  day's  income  each  year  for  their  support?  and,  besides  this, 
do  not  their  victims  have  the  honor  of  the  connection  ? 

Thoughts  of  this  kind,  often  incoherent  and  disconnected, 
passed  through  the  disordered  mind  of  Lord  Maccleton.  A 
servant  was  despatched  for  the  nearest  surgeon,  and,  a  little 
after  sunrise,  he  arrived  at  the  hall ;  but,  as  the  case  baffled 
his  skill,  a  famous  London  physician  was  sent  for,  who  did 
not  reach  there  before  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day.  The 
old  man  had  rallied  a  little  in  the  mean  while ;  but  the  phy- 
sician was  perplexed  exceedingly  with  the  case.  He  could 
not  make  his  diagnosis  agree  with  the  invalid's  statement: 
he  surmised  a  mental  trouble,  which  the  patient  denied.  'In 
this  perplexity,  he  believed  his  own  senses,  and  not  his  lord- 
ship's words;  and,  prescribing  accordingly,  left  for  home. 
The  patient  gradually  rallied  until  the  end  of  two  weeks, 
when  an  event  occurred,  which  so  diverted  his  mind,  and  im- 
pelled him  to  action,  that  he  speedily  improved,  and,  in  a 
week  more,  was  apparently  as  well  as  before  that  dreadful 
night  when  he  fancied  he  heard  the  voice  of  Sleeping  Ven- 
geance again  sounding  in  his  ears.  This  event  was  followed 
by  another  within  a  week,  no  less  important  to  him,  or  less 
likely  to  distract  his  attention  from  other  and  more  displeas- 
ing subjects.  The  first  of  these  was  the  death  of  the  heir 
of  Broadlea,  leaving  his  wife  childless,  and  his  father  in  a 


80  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

state  of  hopeless  imbecility  from  which  he  could  never  rally. 
This  event,  so  entirely  unexpected,  left  the  vast  estates  of 
that  family  to  Lord  Beresford,  as  next  of  kin,  and  heir-at-law. 
The  old  lord  had  often  speculated  on  the  probability  of  such 
an  event ;  but  when,  ten  years  before,  the  direct  heir  had 
married,  and  his  younger  brother  left  on  his  travels,  he  con- 
cluded that  the  chances  of  Lord  Beresford  were  not  worth 
any  further  thought,  and  so  dismissed  the  matter  from  his 
mind.  But  the  young  wife  bore  only  two  children  to  her 
lord,  and  both  died  in  infancy;  and,  while  as  yet  there  was 
no  prospect  of  another,  the  marquis  himself  died,  and  on  the 
very  night  that  the  mail  from  London  was  conveying  a  let- 
ter with  the  information,  that,  a  month  before,  his  brother 
had  died  in  the  Holy  Land. 

The  effect  of  this  news  was  to  arouse  the  flagging  spirits 
of  Lord  Maccleton ;  and  this  sudden  acquisition  to  his  fami- 
ly importance  he  regarded  as  a  special  interposition  of  Provi- 
dence in  his  behalf,  in  compensation  for  what  he  had  already 
suffered  in  sustaining  prerogative  and  privilege.  But  scarce- 
ly had  he  nerved  himself  to  take  in  the  full  consolation  of 
this  event,  when  the  news  came  that  his  son-in-law,  Lord 
Beresford,  who  had  always  been  distinguished  as  the  most 
dissolute  and  dissipated  lord  in  the  three  kingdoms,  had 
killed  himself  in  a  drunken  debauch  in  which  he  was  in- 
dulging in  celebration  of  his  great  good  fortune. 

But,  in  spite  of  this  apparent  interposition  in  his  behalf, 
Lord  Maccleton  found  himself  involved  in  new  difficulties. 
The  son  of  Lady  Beresford  (now  a  young  man  of  seven  and 
twenty),  whose  entire  time,  since  leaving  the  university,  had 
been  spent  abroad,  was  inevitably  the  heir  to  the  Broadlea 
estates ;  and  there  was  not  a  drop  of  the  blood  of  the  Cum- 
berlands  in  his  veins.  An  unlineal  hand  would  grasp  that 
inheritance.  This,  however,  he  cared  little  about,  if  the 
world  knew  it  not.  And  so  it  would  be  in  regard  to  the  larger 
portion  of  his  own  estates.  That  part  which  came  by  his 
first  wife  must  all  descend,  according  to  the  terms  of  settle- 
ment, to  the  heirs  of  her  body.  But  the  only  heir  had  been 
murdered,  more  than  half  a  century  before,  in  America,  and  a 
backwoods  child  had  been  stolen  and  substituted  for  it.  And 
now  this  child,  that  had  grown  to  be  an  elderly  woman,  had 
learned  her  history,  and  the  nature  of  the  act  that  had  torn 
her  from  her  native  home ;   and  her  conduct  showed  that 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  81 

she  was  bent  on  exposing  the  author  of  it,  and  overwhelm- 
ing him,  now  that  he  was  old  and  helpless,  with  disgrace  and 
infamy.  There  seemed  no  escape  for  him;  and  he  regret- 
ted that  the  good  Hindoo  custom  of  wives  burning  them- 
selves on  the  funeral  pyres  of  their  husbands  did  not  obtain 
in  England  ;  and  he  thought  it  very  unreasonable  that  she 
who  had  always  passed  as  his  daughter  would  not  imitate 
her  lord,  and  take  herself  off,  and  so  leave  the  inheritance 
to  succeed  in  the  most  approved  and  conservative  manner. 
But,  even  then,  there  would  have  been  great  difficulties 
in  the  way.  The  intercepted  letter  convinced  him  that  at 
least  one  other  knew  of  the  whole  deception  he  had  so  long 
practised,  and  that  not  even  death  itself  could  avert  the  im- 
pending catastrophe.  Turn  which  way  he  would,  he  saw 
no  light  to  illume  the  brief  path  that  lay  between  him  and 
the  grave.     It  was  darkness,  darkness,  everywhere. 

I  suspect  there  is  much  more  personal  selfishness  in  the 
desire  of  leaving  vast  estates  to  our  lineal  descendants  than 
is  generally  supposed.  When  a  man  has  acquired  property, 
his  love  of  fame  tempts  him  to  leave  it,  so  that  posterity 
will  do  him  honor.  He  delights  to  tie  it  up  so  with  legal 
cords  and  forms,  that  it  shall  remain,  for  all  time,  a  monu- 
ment of  his  own  wisdom.  It  is  not  parental  affection ;  for  it 
conflicts  with  that,  and,  for  the  sake  of  keeping  the  estate 
intact,  allows  those  of  equal  kin  to  remain  in  indigence, 
while  the  one  who  is  to  perpetuate  the  founder's  honor  and 
fame  rolls  in  wealth,  and  dispenses  hospitality  to  his  peers. 
The  great  and  ruling  idea  is  to  keep  up  a  family  name  and 
prestige  that  ordinary  mortals  shall  wonder  at  and  admire ; 
nor  does  it  matter  so  much  that  the  original  blood  and  stock 
shall  be  transmitted,  as  that  the  monument  of  Mammon 
shall  endure,  and  preserve  its  identity.  Few  of  the  older 
estates  in  England,  though  passing  by  the  same  titles  (in 
law  and  in  name)  as  centuries  ago,  are  held  by  those  who  have 
in  their  veins  any  of  the  blood  of  their  founders;  and  the 
most  of  those  of  a  more  recent  period,  judging  from  the  expe- 
rience of  those  who  have  preceded  them,  can  have  but  slight 
expectation  that  their  own  lineal  descendants  are  to  be  bene- 
fited by  their  efforts  to  link  their  names  to  the  estates  they 
entail.  That  is  not  the  primary  object.  The  primary  object 
is  entire  selfishness  and  vanity,  to  be  gratified  at  the  expense 
of  the  natural  affections.     Hence  it  is  that  the  want  of  an  heir 


82  GOMEBY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

is  liable  to  defeat  the  best-laid  schemes ;  and,  if  so  be  that 
the  important  and  leading  object  be  attained,  the  lesser  con- 
siderations of  ties  of  blood  are  swept  away  as  trivial  and 
unworthy. 

Nor  is  this  confined  to  one  class  or  to  one  nation  :  we  see 
it  everywhere.  The  most  notable  instance  of  modern  times 
is  the  case  of  the  present  French  despot.  There  was  a  Bo- 
naparte that  shed  great  lustre  on  the  name.  The  terror  of 
the  world,  he  became  the  glory  of  France.  He  was  at  last 
overthrown,  and  left  to  die  by  slow  torture  on  a  desolate 
rock.  But  the  spirit  and  enthusiasm  of  the  French  people 
for  their  great  hero  survived,  and  burned  to  aggrandize  the 
name  of  Bonaparte.  The  greatest  hero  the  world  had  ever 
seen  had  sought  to  enroll  himself  among  the  recognized 
sovereigns  of  the  earth,  to  found  a  Bonaparte  dynasty.  The 
French  people  recognized,  in  the  glory  he  had  conferred  upon 
them,  the  right  to  do  this.  Time  passed  on ;  change  after 
change  occurred  among  the  French  people  in  all  things  save 
one:  their  admiration  for  the  great  Napoleon  was  undimin- 
ished. Then  a  new  man  appeared,  —  a  man  of  tenacious  pur- 
pose and  subtle  capacity.  He  called  himself,  and  was  called 
by  the  world,  a  Bonaparte  ;  but  history  and  scandal  and 
probability  called  him  the  son  of  a  vagrom  Dutchman.  A 
later  hero-worshipper  attempts  to  prove  that  he  is  the  son 
of  his  uncle.  But  what  care  the  French  people,  or  what 
cares  anybody  else,  whose  son  he  is  ?  He  passes  as  the  Bona- 
parte. He  is  carrying  into  effect  the  idea  of  the  great  Na- 
poleon, and  bending  all  his  powers  to  firmly  establishing  a 
Bonaparte  dynasty.  His  success  counts  with  the  world  for 
the  glory  of  the  founder  of  the  family ;  and  hence  it  acqui- 
esces in  his  pretensions. 

Thus  Lord  Maccleton  cared  less  of  what  stock  or  blood 
the  future  possessors  of  the  ancestral  estates  should  be,  than 
that  they  should  be  increased  in  extent  and  augmented  in 
value,  and  carry  with  them  more  influence  in  the  country. 
His  ambition  had  been  to  be  known  as  that  Lord  Maccleton 
who  had  greatly  magnified  the  house;  and,  if  that  object 
could  have  been  attained  by  a  change  of  babes  in  their  swad- 
dling-clothes, he  would  have  thought  it  a  perfectly  proper 
and  legitimate  transaction.  Such  things  had  been  frequently 
done,  not  only  at  the  instigation  of  kings,  but  with  the  ap- 
proval of  priests.     Then  why  should  he  scruple?    That  view 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  83 

of  the  case  never  troubled  him  in  the  least.  The  fears  that 
.  were  upon  him  were  of  exposure ;  and  this,  too,  from  the 
refusal  of  the  suposititious  heir  to  be  made  a  party  to  the 
fraud. 

While  Lord  Maccleton  was  in  this  dilemma,  debating  in 
his  own  mind  various  plans  for  extricating  himself  from  his 
troubles,  the  course  of  the  law  was  onward.  The  death  of 
the  Marquis  of  Broadlea  and  of  the  Lord  Beresford  had  ne- 
cessitated important  law  proceedings.  Of  course,  Lady  Beres- 
ford would  be  called  upon  to  affix  her  signature,  and  give 
her  assent  to  various  authorizations  and  transfers.  Lord 
Maccleton,  shut  up  at  home,  scarcely  dared  to  learn  what 
was  going  on.  He  believed  that  she  would  seek  some  occa- 
sion as  public  as  possible  to  precipitate  the  catastrophe  ;  and 
he  was  not  surprised,  therefore,  when  he  learned  that  she 
utterly  refused  to  take  any  steps  in  the  matter.  Her  son's 
solicitor,  suspecting  nothing,  went  to  consult  with  Lord 
Maccleton  in  regard  to  her  contumacy,  and  to  urge  him  to 
use  his  influence  with  her.  As  may  be  supposed,  he  declined 
to  see  her  ladyship.  Hence  it  became  necessary  to  apply 
for  a  mandamus  to  compel  her  to  the  performance  of  acts 
that  were  in  conformity  to  her  own  interests. 

This  part  of  the  story,  in  hands  more  familiar  with  English 
life  and  manners,  might  make  an  interesting  chapter  in  this 
book.  But  I  pass  it  over,  simply  narrating  how  that  Lady 
Beresford  was  brought  into  court ;  how  that  the  whole 
country  around  was  greatly  astonished  at  her  conduct,  and  a 
great  crowd  was  in  the  court-room  when  the  complaint 
against  her  was  read.  The  woman  had  nerved  herself  to  a 
rigid  calmness :  she  sat  immovable  as  marble,  and  appeared 
to  notice  nothing.  After  the  preliminaries  had  been  gone 
through  with,  the  judge  turned  to  the  defendant,  and  said, 
"As  your  ladyship  has  allowed  the  proceedings  to  be  taken, 
I  suppose  you  have  retained  counsel." 

In  a  clear  voice  she  answered,  "  I  have  no  counsel ;  and  I 
desire  none.  I  am  not  the  person  named  in  that  paper  which 
has  just  been  read." 

"  Not  Lady  Beresford ! " 

"  I  am  Lady  Beresford.  But  the  person  therein  described 
is  Lady  Emily  Cumberland,  daughter  of  Lord  Maccleton, 
and  relict  of  Lord  Beresford.   I  am  not  the  daughter  of  Lord 


84  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

Maccleton,  and  my  true  name  never  was  Emily  Cumber- 
land." 

"Your  ladj^ship,  this  is  a  very  singular  proceeding  on 
your  part.     Please  explain." 

"  My  name  was  Judith  Gault.  I  was  born  in  the  forests 
of  America.  My  father  and  mother  were  murdered  by  the 
hands  or  at  the  instigation  of  Col.  Cumberland,  now  Lord 
Maccleton.  I  was  stolen  away ;  and,  ere  my  lips  had  learned 
to  speak  the  name  of  my  parents,  I  was  made  to  take  the 
place  of  his  child  that  had  come  to  a  violent  death." 

Here  the  proceedings  were  summarily  stopped.  The  court- 
room was  ordered  to  be  cleared,  and  Lady  Beresford  was  taken 
away  to  her  own  house.  It  was  busily  circulated  that  Lady 
Beresford  had  become  deranged;  but  Joe  Pumpaign  took 
good  care  that  the  truth  should  not  be  silenced  in  that  way. 
He  sent  a  brief  anonymous  statement  of  the  facts  of  the  case 
to  the  judge,  and  warned  him  that  silence  was  impossible. 
Great  pains  were  taken  to  keep  the  affair  from  the  newspa- 
pers, and  they  were  successful.  But  they  were  well  known 
in  high  quarters ;  and  the  first  official  intimation  that  Lord 
Maccleton  had  of  his  exposure  was  a  formal  notice  that  he  had 
been  disgracefully  dropped  from  the  retired  list  of  the  army. 
Soon  after,  it  was  announced  that  the  recent  additions  to  the 
Maccleton  estates  would  not  descend  in  the  regular  line  to 
young  Henry  Torley,  the  son  of  Lady  Beresford,  but  that 
they  would  all  lapse  to  the  other  heirs  of  the  first  wife  of 
Col.  Cumberland,  who  never  lived  to  become  Lady  Maccle- 
ton. It  was  said,  also,  that  there  could  be  no  union  of  the 
two  estates ;  that  Henry  Torley,  now  Lord  Beresford,  would 
only  inherit  the  estate  of  his  father;  and  that  Maccleton 
would  go  to  the  eldest  son  of  Lord  Maccleton  by  his  second 
wife,  who,  as  we  have  seen  long  since,  had  inherited  his  infir- 
mity, and  often  saw  the  same  dreadful  apparition  that  had 
so  long  haunted  the  guilty  old  man.  It  had  been  the  same 
with  a  sister  older  than  he,  who,  the  nurses  and  gossips  said, 
had  been  frightened  out  of  her  life,  at  the  age  of  seven,  by 
the  sight  of  ghosts.  The  heir  to  the  title  and  estates  had 
from  infancy  been  affected  in  the  same  way,  and  so  had  the 
two  younger  children.  They  would,  each  and  all,  in  their 
childhood,  describe  to  their  playmates  and  governesses  the 
Gault  tragedy,  precisely  as  it  appeared  to  Robert  Gomery  and 


A    FAMILY   HISTORY.       *  85 

his  wife  and  many  others  more  than  half  a  century  before 
they  were  born.  Their  father  had  been  aware  of  this ;  and 
the  sight  of  them,  with  their  heads  jerking  at  times,  and  their 
eyes  shrinking,  and  turning  away  from  an  apparition  of  which 
he  knew  too  well  its  dreadful  character,  had  so  disturbed 
him,  that  he  scarcely  ever  allowed  himself  to  look  upon 
them,  and,  after  the  death  of  their  mother,  never  went  near 
them,  and  never  allowed  them  to  come  near  the  hall. 

During  the  time  that  these  developments  were  being 
made,  Lord  Maccleton  never  went  out  of  the  hall.  His 
solicitor  was  the  only  person  besides  one  servant  that  he  al- 
lowed to  approach.  The  affair  was  in  such  high  life,  that 
great  pains  were  taken  to  keep  the  facts  of  the  case  from 
reaching  the  public  ear ;  and  all  the  newspapers  likely  to 
divulge  them  were  duly  bribed  to  silence.  But  their  pains 
were  set  at  nought  by  the  still  unappeased  Joe  Pumpagin. 
He  had  prepared  a  small  pamphlet,  and  found  means  to  have 
it  printed,  giving  the  history  of  the  Gault  tragedy,  and  the 
substitution  of  the  infant  Gault  for  the  infant  Cumberland. 
One  of  these  was  first  found  in  Lord  Maccleton's  chamber ; 
and  the  next  day  there  was  not  an  ale-house,  and  but  few 
dwelling-houses,  within  many  miles,  that  did  not  contain  one. 
The  pamphlet  concluded  with  saying  that  the  author  was 
the  son  of  the  murdered  Gault,  and  brother  of  Lady  Beres- 
ford ;  that  for  twenty-five  years  he  had  followed  the  guilty 
wretch  who  had  caused  all  this  misery ;  that  he  was  still  in 
the  midst  of  the  people  who  dwelt  near  Maccleton,  as  en- 
tirely unsuspected  as  any  one  could  be  who  read  his  state- 
ment; that  now  he  had  finished  his  work,  as  justice  had 
worked  out  his  revenges  ;  and  he  should  return  to  the  land 
of  his  birth,  and  at  last  rest  by  the  side  of  those  whose 
wrongs  he  had  spent  his  life  in  avenging.  • 

What  passed  between  Lord  Maccleton  and  his  solicitor, 
after  this  pamphlet  came  into  the  hands  of  the  former,  is  not 
known.  The  latter  came  in,  and  found  his  lordship  sitting 
in  his  arm-chair,  holding  the  pamphlet  in  his  hand.  "  What ! " 
exclaimed  the  lawyer:  "have  you  got  one  of  those?" 

"  How ! "  said  Lord  Maccleton,  starting  up :  "  have  you 
seen  it  before  ?  " 

"  Seen  it  !  —  yes.  Some  busy  fool  has  circulated  it  all 
through  the  country.    But  nobody  will  believe  it,  of  course." 


86  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

An  hour  after,  the  lawyer  left  the  room,  and  was  gone  for 
about  twenty  minutes.  When  he  returned,  Lord  Maccleton 
lay  upon  the  floor  dead,  his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  a 
razor  still  clutched  in  his  right  hand. 

A  week  after  this,  the  American  ship  "  Osprey "  left  the 
port  of  Liverpool  for  New  York.  Among  her  passengers, 
but  under  fictitious  names,  were  Lady  Beresford  and  Joe 
Pumpagin. 


A  FAMILY   HISTOET.  87 


CHAPTER    VL 

"Ye  hae  sae  monie  cracks  an'  cants; 
And  in  your  wicked  drucken  rants 
Ye  mak  a  devil  o'  the  saints, 

An'  fill  them  fou ; 
And  then  their  failings,  flaws,  an'  wants 

Are  a'  seen  through."  — BURNS. 

If  this  history  has  shown  one  thing  more  clearly  than  oth- 
ers, it  is  that  Joe  Pumpagin  was  possessed,  to  a  remarkable 
degree,  of  that  quality  of  strength  which  is  called  patience. 
He  never  feared  that  his  plans  would  miscarry  through  delay; 
but  his  faith  in  the  natural  justice  that  rules  the  earth- was  so 
strong,  that  he  seemed  possessed  of  that  sixth  sense  that  some 
one  has  called  the  "  sense  of  opportunity."  On  reaching 
New  York,  therefore,  after  his  voyage  across  the  ocean,  — 
during  which  time  it  may  be  supposed  he  recounted  to  his 
titled  sister  the  strange  events  of  his  life  more  minutely  than 
he  had  opportunity  previously  to  do, — it  was  not  in  accord- 
ance with  his  character  or  habits  to  rush  to  Montgomery  and 
astonish  the  people  with  his  discoveries,  and  account  to  them 
for  his  strange  career.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  arranged  that 
Lady  Beresford  should  first  go  up  there  by  herself  and  con- 
trive some  excuse  for  spending  a  week  in  the  place,  and  grat- 
ify her  curiosity  by  visiting  the  scene  of  her  birth  and  earli- 
est recollections,  and  then  return  to  Boston,  and  there  await 
the  arrival  of  her  brother  after  he  had  attended  to  certain 
business  affairs  of  importance.  He  had  now  been  absent 
many  years,  and,  during  that  time,  the  country  had  made 
great  progress  ;  and  he  considered  it  imperative  that  he  should 
go  immediately,  and  look  after  his  real-estate  investments  in 
the  interior  of  the  State.  Accordingly,  having  seen  his  sister 
set  forth,  with  her  faithful  servant-maid  who  had  accompanied 
her  from  England,  on  her  excursion  to  Montgomery,  he  took 
passage  up  the  river,  and  made  his  way  with  all  despatch  to 
his  former  home,  the  scene  of  his  first  encounter  with  Sleeping 


88  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMEEY  : 

"Vengeance.  The  country  through  which  he  passed  was  no 
longer  a  wilderness.  Though  much  of  the  primeval  forest  was 
still  standing,  yet  good  roads  and  bridges  had  been  built,  mail 
and  stage  routes  established,  and  along  their  lines  were  many 
fine  farms  with  substantial  houses  and  barns,  fat  cattle,  horses 
and  sheep  grazing  in  pastures,  and  fields  of  waving  grain  just 
now  ripening  for  the  sickle,  at  the  period  he  passed  along. 
As  he  approached  his  own  tract,  he  found  that  the  main  road 
that  led  from  the  most  important  port  on  Lake  Ontario  to 
Albany  passed  along  the  valley  of  the  stream  of  which  he 
had  been  wise  enough,  many  years  before,  to  appropriate  to 
himself  the  only  available  waterfall  for  many  miles  on  either 
side. 

A  considerable  village  had  grown  up  at  the  place ;  and  he 
was  welcomed  by  the  people  there  for  reasons  that  he  had 
not  foreseen.  When  last  there,  it  will  be  remembered,  he 
had  sold  a  ten-acre  tract  from  his  lot  to  a  millwright,  and 
leased  him  a  water-privilege  on  terms  that  required  him  to 
renew  the  lease  on  easy  conditions,  or  take  the  improvements 
at  their  value.  Thus  there  were  saw-mills  and  grist-mills 
already  doing  a  thriving  business ;  and  Joe  no  sooner  cast 
his  eyes  on  the  site  of  his  purchase  of  a  dozen  years  before, 
than  he  knew  he  was  a  rich  man.  The  villagers  welcomed 
him  as  the  proprietor  and  the  capitalist;  and,  of  course, 
showed  him  great  respect  and  attention.  But  they  were 
puzzled  to  make  out  who  and  what  he  was.  His  old  habit 
of  telling  marvellous  stories  richly  garnished  with  quotations 
from  Shakspeare  still  clung  to  him ;  and,  whatever  conflict  of 
opinion  there  might  be  in  regard  to  his  antecedents,  he  was 
unanimously  declared  to  be  very  amusing.  He  had  seen,  in 
more  than  one  instance,  the  folly  of  landholders  acting  the 
dog  in  the  manger  till  they  had  forced  into  demand  land 
naturally  less  eligible  than  their  own,  till  they  were  at  last 
glad  to  sell  for  a  tithe  of  what  they  could  once  have  com- 
manded. He  determined  not  to  err  in  that  way,  and  so  an- 
nounced a  readiness  to  sell  certain  parts  of  his  estate  at 
prices  such  as  were  regarded  by  all  as  reasonable.  But  he 
was  a  little  particular  to  whom  he  sold ;  and  it  was  found, 
after  a  time,  that  he  was  a  mortal  enemy  to  flip-drinkers. 
This  was  not  suspected  at  first :  quite  the  reverse.  The 
drink  had,  not  been  known  in  the  village  previous  to  his  ar- 
rival ;  but,  within  a  short  time,  he  had  taught  the  landlord 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  89 

of  the  village  inn  how  to  make  it,  and  many  others  how  to 
drink  it.  Indeed,  I  begin  to  suspect  that  flip  was  an  engine 
of  his  craft ;  for  it  is  certain,  that,  when  he  found  a  person 
easily  persuaded  to  drink  it,  he  could  never  come  to  terms 
with  him  on  the  price  of  a  lot.  But  a  man  whom  he  could 
never  wheedle  or  coax  to  drink  more  than  a  single  glass  of 
that  insinuating  beverage  could  almost  make  his  own  terms 
with  him.  If  he  was  intelligent,  and  had  a  will  of  his  own, 
—  and  those  whom  he  could  not  persuade  to  drink  flip  gen- 
erally were  so, —  Joe  would  let  him  have  land  at  his  own 
price,  and  give  him  his  own  time  in  which  to  pay  for  it.  He 
had  learned  thus  much  from  the  example  of  Gomery  of 
Montgomery,  —  that  the  prosperity  of  a  place  depended  very 
much  on  the  sobriety  and  intelligence  of  its  early  settlers. 
If  they  were  industrious  and  temperate,  then  the  place  would 
have  a  character  for  thrift  and  morality  for  generations;  but, 
if  they  stamped  it  as  a  "  rum-hole,"  it  remained  a  "  rum-hole  " 
in  spite  of  temperance  societies  or  river  water.  But  he  took 
care,  after  having  his  land  all  surveyed  and  laid  out  in  lots, 
to  sell  only  alternate  plots  or  blocks,  reserving  to  himself  the 
squares  intervening ;  knowing  full  well,  that,  with  the  growth 
of  the  town,  they  would  increase  enormously  in  value.  His 
arrival  at  the  place  seemed  to  give  a  sudden  impetus  to  busi- 
ness ;  and,  within  a  month  of  his  return,  he  had  sold  lots 
amounting  to  several  thousand  dollars*  The  demand  for 
lumber  for  building  was  such,  that  a  new  saw-mill,  with  shin- 
gle and  clapboard  machines,  was  immediately  commenced ; 
and  a  bargain  was  struck  with  Joe,  by  a  young  man  who  had 
lately  come  into  the  village  bringing  a  few  thousand  dollars' 
capital,  for  the  site  and  privilege  for  a  large  flouring-mill  that 
was  to  grind  all  the  wheat  raised  in  the  neighboring  country. 
Joe's  popularity  when  he  reigned  flush  at  Diller's  Tavern, 
and  dispensed  flip  among  his  admirers,  had  never  been  so 
great  as  it  now  was  in  this  modern  village  of  Barkersville, 
named  after  its  first  settler,  Capt.  Ben.  Barker,  who  the  reader 
may  remember  as  the  nearest  neighbor  of  Joe  at  the  time"  of 
his  first  residence  there,  and  who  assisted  him  in  burying 
Sleeping  Vengeance.  But,  popular  as  he  was,  the  villagers 
were  sadly  perplexed  what  to  make  of  him.  They  knew 
nothing  of  him,  except  that  he  had  come  to  the  place  a  long 
time  ago,  and  secured  the  most  valuable  town-site  within 
many  miles ;  and  that  he  was  a  most  inveterate  joker  and 

8* 


90  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

story-teller,  quoting  Shakspeare  on  all  occasions,  whether  it 
was  in  sending  a  dog  after  cattle,  by  bidding  him  to  "  stand 
not  on  the  order  of  his  going,  but  go  at  once,"  or  in  excus- 
ing himself  to  his  flip-drinking  companions,  that  he  might 
woo  that  gentle  sleep,  —  "  sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravelled 
sleave  of  care." 

From  their  prying  and  inquisitive  manner,  he  saw  that 
people  were  dying  to  know  more  about  him  ;  and  he  was  too 
good-natured  not  to  oblige  them.  But  his  accounts  of  him- 
self were  sadly  inconsistent  with  each  other.  At  one  time,  he 
would  say  that  he  was  a  retired  New-York  merchant,  living 
in  fine  style  in  Beekman  Street,  and  that  he,  his  wife,  and 
daughter  would  be  delighted  to  receive  visits  from  his  Bar- 
kersville  friends ;  and  he  should  take  it  as  a  personal  affront 
if  they  did  not  one  and  all,  when  they  came  to  New  York, 
make  his  house  their  home  for  themselves  and  families. 
This  rendered  him  immensely  popular  with  the  women 
folks  for  a  time,  as  scarce  a  woman  in  Barkersville  but  had 
promised  herself  a  visit  and  a  month's  sojourn  in  New  York 
within  a  year;  and  fathers  and  husbands  could  no  longer 
refuse,  as  there  would  be  no  tavern-bills  to  pay.  But  this 
illusion  was  soon  dispelled  when  it  was  known  that  to  an- 
other company  of  inquisitors  he  had  said  he  was  a  West- 
India  merchant,  living  most  of  his  time,  and  doing  business, 
at  Matanzas.  When  asked  to  explain  how  it  was  that  he 
lived  in  Matanzas,  and  did  business,  when  he  had  only  the 
day  before  reported  that  he  was  a  retired  merchant  living  in 
Beekman  Street,  New  York,  he  said  he  would  be  honest,  and 
own  up  that  he  had  been  deceiving  them ;  that  he  was  a 
Boston  clergyman  of  the  most  approved  and  Orthodox  cut. 
But  this  story  seemed  more  incredible  than  either  of  the 
others,  or  the  two  combined ;  for  his  incurable  and  original 
style  of  swearing  rendered  this  pretension  so  absurd,  that 
one  of  his  listeners  timidly  asked  how  it  was  that  he  swore 
so  if  he  was"  a  clergyman. 

"  Swear ! "  said  he  :  "I  don't  swear ;  I  only  use  strong  ad- 
jectives. I  got  in  the  habit  by  preaching.  I  used  to  threaten 
hell-fire  so  much  to  sinners,  that  I  got  used  to  it ;  and  I  talk 
now  of  the  Devil  and  his  dominions  like  an  acquaintance." 

Certain  persons  were  greatly  shocked  at  this  explanation ; 
and  were  much  relieved  when  they  heard,  soon  after,  that 
he  claimed  to  be  a  retired  sea-captain.    In  fact,  he  never  told 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  91 

the  same  story  of  himself  twice :  and,  when  people  came  to 
compare  notes,  they  found  they  could  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  from  his  own  words,  as  to  what  he  was ;  and,  as  they 
concluded  that  he  did  not  wish  it  to  be  known,  they  became 
doubly  curious  about  it.  However,  he  did  not  long  remain 
among  them,  but  left  them  to  wonder  at  his  queer  stories 
and  odd  ways.  He  returned  to  New  York,  and  made  a  de- 
posit of  the  money  he  had  received  at  Barkersville,  and 
arranged  his  old  account  with  the  bank,  that  had  only  known 
him,  or  of  him,  by  an  occasional  draft  for  the  last  twenty 
years. 

Having  thus  duly  arranged  his  business-affairs,  and  feeling 
so  tired  of  wandering  and  unrest,  that  he  thought,  if  he  once 
more  got  back  to  Montgomery,  he  never  would  leave  it 
again,  he  set  forth  for  that  longed-for  haven  ;  and  there,  sur- 
rounded by  those  friends  best  beloved  of  all  he  had  met  in 
all  his  weary,  eventful  life,  he  hoped  to  pass  the  remainder  of 
his  days. 

But  it  was  not  characteristic  of  this  philosopher  to  leap 
before  he  looked.  He  resolved  to  abide  on  his  way,  for  a 
time,  at  the  "  City  of  Notions,"  and  await  advices  from  his 
sister,  who  had  preceded  him  some  weeks  before.  There  he 
took  lodgings  at  a  noted  hotel  of  the  day,  called  the  City 
Tavern,  which  was  a  favorite  boarding-place  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  General  Court,  as  the  State  Legislature  was  then 
called.  Here  he  soon  made  himself  famous  by  his  art  in 
making  flip,  and  taught  the  landlord  how  to  make  it;  so 
that  the  house  soon  became  immensely  popular.  The  So- 
lons  of  the  State  capital  used  to  congregate  in  large  num- 
bers in  the  bar-room  every  evening ;  and  on  one  occasion  it 
was  announced  on  the  floor  of  the  house,  by  a  member  more 
ready  with  familiar  than  classical  illustrations,  that  it  was 
"  as  clear  that  the  fisheries  should  be  protected,  as  that  the 
best  flip  in  all  Boston  could  be  had  at  the  City  Tavern." 

Joe  had  been  a  guest  of  the  City  Tavern  about  three 
days,  when  he  received  a  letter  from  his  sister,  giving  an 
account  of  her  experience  since  she  left  him  in.  New  York. 
She  had  arrived  in  due  time  at  Montgomery  with  her  maid, 
and  stopped  at  the  tavern  of  his  old  friend  Diller.  She 
had  feigned  fatigue  as  a  reason  for  delaying  a  few  days 
on  her  journey ;  and  as  she  professed  to  be  travelling  for 
health   and  amusement,  and  was  much  charmed  with  the 


92  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

scenevy  around  Montgomery,  she  easily  excused  her  long 
tarry  there.  But  she  said  great  changes  must  have  taken 
place  there  since  he  had  left;  for  the  family  of  Gomery,  of 
which  she  had  heard  him  speak,  Jiad  lost  all  their  property, 
and,  besides,  had  lost  the  good  will  of  a  great  many  of  the 
people ;  that  the  old  place  on  the  hill,  as  well  as  all  the  original 
tract  first  owned  by  Gomery,  was  being  sold  off,  except  only 
the  place  called  the  Pivot,  where  the  old  squire  still  con- 
tinued to  live  with  his  wife,  though  his  children  had  all  left 
him.  She  said  that  she  had  made  an  offer  to  buy  the  old 
place,  including  the  spring  called  the  "  Weeping  Angel ;"  and 
that  it  had  been  accepted,  though  the  papers  had  not  been 
yet  drawn,  nor  had  she  come  provided  with  money  sufficient 
for  the  purchase. 

Joe  was  greatly  disturbed  at  this  news,  and  resolved  to 
proceed  without  further  delay  to  Montgomery;  and  he  made 
his  arrangements  to  start  the  next  morning. 

Now,  among  the  persons  who  used  to  congregate  at  the 
City  Tavern,  and  drink  flip,  there  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with 
hair  slightly  gray,  teeth  white  and  always  visible,  and  silver- 
bowed  spectacles.  He  used  to  come  in  every  evening  about 
seven  o'clock,  and  leave  about  half-past  nine.  The  reader 
may  recognize  in  this  description  our  old  acquaintance,  Seth 
Mettlar.  He  sipped  his  flip  with  as  keen  a  relish  as  Joe 
himself,  or  the  eloquent  member  of  the  General  Court  from 
Farmington,  who  had  advertised  the  hotel  and  its  flip  in  his 
eloquent  and  patriotic  speech  on  the  fisheries.  Joe,  at  first 
sight,  had  conceived  a  great  dislike  to  the  mousing  attorney ; 
and,  as  he  always  was  pleased  to  have  a  butt  for  his  jokes, 
he  made  him  the  object  of  all  his  funny  sayings  that  re- 
quired to  be  personal  in  order  to  be  pungent.  In  relating 
his  most  marvellous  stories,  he  would  address  himself  directly 
to  Seth,  and  then  ask  him  if  he  believed  them,  with  such  a 
tone  and  air,  that  his  victim  dared  only  to  say  yes,  until  at 
last  he  found  he  was  becoming  not  only  the  butt  of  Joe,  but 
of  all  those  who  were  wont  to  meet  at  the  City  Tavern. 
At  last  he  resolved  to  show  the  spirit  of  a  man,  and  say  no. 
This  resolution  he  made  known  to  one  of  his  fellow-sitters, 
who  straightway  informed  Joe  that  Seth  was  determined  to 
give  him  a  piece  of  his  mind,  and  that  he  would  put  him  to 
such  open  shame  by  exposing  his  arrant  lies,  that  he  would 
never  dare  show  his  head  again  at  the  City  Tavern. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  .  93 

Thus  forewarned,  Jo,e  took  his  customary  place  in  the  bar- 
room of  the  hotel  y  and  as  he  was  intending  to  leave  the 
next  morning  for  Montgomery,  and,  besides  that,  was  expect- 
ing a  fierce  battle  with  Seth-,  he  ordered  the  host  to  keep  the 
flip  flowing,  at  his  expense,  during  the  whole  evening.  There 
chanced  to  be  an  unusual  number  present  on  the  occasion, 
including  several  stranger-guests-;  and  Joe  began  telling 
various  yarns,  more  or  less  absurd,  and  kept  it  up  till  the 
third  pitcher  of  flip  had  been  disposed  of.  Then,  turning 
upon  Seth  so  as  to  draw  all  eyes  upon  him,  he  said,  "  I  had 
a  strange  adventure  up  towards  the  State  House  to-day." 

« Indeed !  "  said  Seth.     "  What  was  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  I  was  walking  along,  arm-in-arm,  with  the 
governor.  The  governor  and  I  are  old  friends :  we  have 
drunk  flip  together  a  thousand  times ;  but  then  he  could 
never  put  aivay  the  quantity  that  you  do.  We  were  walking 
along  up  near  the  Common,  when  I  bade  him  good-morning, 
and  walked  down  Park  Street  by  myself,  till  I  met  a  most 
beautiful  lady.  She  looked  at  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  I  am 
no  such  woman.'  Of  course  I,  too,  scorned  the  imputation, 
and  walked  on,  like  Queen  Elizabeth,  '  in  maiden  meditation, 
fancy-free.'  You  know  what  Shakspeare  says  about  that. 
But,  just  then,  I  saw  a  horse  running  away  lick-a-ti-cut  with 
a  bran-new  carriage,  in  which  sot  this  same  beautiful  lady. 
Oh!  she  was  beautiful.  She  far  excelled  any  woman  of 
modern  times.  In  fact,  she  put  me  in  mind  of  Helen  and 
Penelope  and  Xenophon." 

"  Xenophon  wa'n't  a  woman,  you  ignoramus  you !  "  said 
Seth. 

"  Xenophon  wa'n't  a  woman !     How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"Why,  all  the  books  say  so, — all  the  Greek  histories." 

"  Well,  they  don't  know  any  thing  at  all  about  it.  I  have 
seen  some  of  his  relations ;  and  they  say  he  was  a  woman." 

"  How  could  you  see  his  relations  ?  He  has  been  dead  these 
three  thousand  years." 

"How  do  you  know  that?  Can  you  remember  three 
thousand  years  ago  ?  I  want  you  to  know,  you  mousing, 
deceitful  owl !  that  I  have  travelled  some.  I  have  been  in 
all  those  countries ;  have  been  where  he  used  to  live,  and 
sell  soap,  candles,  and  combs ;  and  I  saw  his  tombstone,  and 
on  it  was  writ  these  words:  'Sacred  to  the  memory  of 
George  Washington  Xenophon,  beloved  wife  of  Alexander 


94  '  ,     t  GOME&Y   OF  MONTGOMERY  : 

the  Great,  who  died  in  the  faith  of  the  gospel,  nine  hundred 
and  sixteen  years  before  Christ." 

"How  could  he. die  in  the  faith  of  the  gospel  before 
Christ?" 

"The  fashions  were  different  then.  Children  are  often 
born  there  before  their  fathers  and  mothers ;  and  time  goes 
the  other  way,  and  the  water  runs  up  hill.  The  sun  rises 
in  the  west,  and  it  is  midnight  just  after  sunrise." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  that  country  ?  "  sneered  Seth. 

"It  is  called  Abyssinia;  but  the  people  there  are  so 
ashamed  of  their  country,  because  it  is  so  different  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  that,  when  they  catch  a  foreigner  among 
them,  they  make  him  swear  not  to  tell  of  it." 

"  How  did  you  get  off,  then  ?  "  asked  Seth. 

"  Oh !  I  stole  away  in  the  night  on  the  back  of  a  snapping- 
turtle.  The  third  day  out,  we  hailed  a  vessel  bound  for 
Baltimore.  They  took  us  both  on  board.  The  turtle  was 
served  up  for  soup,  and  capital  good  soup  it  made  too !  It 
made  a  mess  for  all  hands  !  " 

"  Couldn't  you  tell  us  something  that  has  a  word  of  truth 
in  it,  just  for  a  change?"  said  Seth. 

"The  truth-  you  want,  do  you?  Why,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  unless  your  face  is  a  lie,  you  would  be  in  the  State 
Prison.  And  you  question  my  veracity,  do  you? — you 
sneaking  cat-butcher,  you  canting  copper-catcher,  you  ghoul, 
you  counterfeit  of  a  man  made  by  one  of  Nature's  journey- 
men, as  Shakspeare  says,  and  not  made  well  at  that,  since, 
you  imitate  humanity  so  abominably ! " 

" I  am  afraid,"  said  Deacon  Giles  of  Marblehead,  —  "I  am 
afraid  you  read  your  Shakspeare  more  than  your  Bible." 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  said  Joe  ;  "  but  I  have  read  them  both,  till, 
as  Shakspeare  says,  '  they  are  familiar  in  my  mouth  as  house- 
hold words.' " 

"  It  is  only  another  proof  that  the  word,  on  the  unre- 
generate  heart,  is  *  like  seed  sown  in  stony  places.' " 

"  You  judge  hastily,  my  Christian  friend ;  but  you  are 
greatly  deceived." 

"  What !   you  don't  pretend  that  you  are  a  professor  ?  " 

"  No :  I  am  not  a  professor,"  said  Joe.  "  In  fact,  I  have 
found  that  those  who  profess  much  have  their  own  reason 
for  doing  so ;  as,  by  professing  strongly,  they  think  to  make 
up  for  delinquencies  in  doing.    I  come  far  short  of  the  per- 


A   FAMILY   HISTOEY.  95 

feet  man,  I  am  well  aware :  therefore  I  study,  quote,  and 
live  by  Shakspeare.  He  was  neither  saint  nor  professor.  I, 
though  some  might  doubt  it,  neither  fast  twice  in  a  week,  nor 
give  tithes  of  all  I  possess.  In  fact,  as  Shakspeare  says,  I 
am  '  little  better  than  one  of  the  wicked.'  My  range  of 
thought  is,  I  confess,  not"  so  high  as  I  could  wish.  It  is  of 
human  mould,  and  not  of  the  divine.  Now,  Shakspeare 
epitomized  all  human  thoughts.  All  great,  noble,  sublime, 
poetic,  subtle,  sympathetic  ideas  that  ever  it  entered  into 
the  heart  of  man  to  conceive,  passed  through  his  all  but 
inspired  mind.  You  shall  read  the  great  thoughts  and  grand 
conceptions  of  all  men  who  preceded  him ;  and,  for  each 
one,  I  will  find  you  a  line  in  Shakspeare  that  shall  better 
express  it,  and  show  you  that  it  was  better  comprehended 
and  appreciated  by  him  than  by  its  first  author.  Not  only 
were  all  men's  thoughts  in  that  one  head,  but  that  head  was 
a  refining  crucible  for  them  all ;  and  he  sent  them  forth 
purified  of  their  dross,  —  pure  ethereal  gems  of  fancy,  wit, 
and  wisdom.  The  first  dawning  sense  of  early  love  by  him 
was  set  in  words  that  give  back  to  all  lovers  their  vague, 
unpronounced  sensations,  with  all  their  virgin  delicacy,  yet 
clearly  and  sharply  defined  as  a  problem  of  Euclid.  The 
great  schemes  of  ambition  that  have  moved  conquerors 
to  battle,  to  intrigue,  to  treachery,  were  all  before  him,  as 
if  he  read,  as  in  a  glass,  the  very  words  of  the  projectors, 
and  searched,  and  brought  to  light,  with  a  distinctness  that 
makes  them  shudder  at  their  own  deformity,  the  low  mo- 
tives and  selfish  ends  that  influence  base  minds.  He  has 
searched  the  human  heart,  and  laid  bare  its  wickedness,  at 
the  same  time  that  he  has  set  in  a  clearer  light  than  all  other 
men  of  mere  human  gifts  the  nobler  attributes  of  the  human 
heart." 

"  That  is  little  better  than  blasphemy,"  said  Deacon  Giles. 
"  There  is  only  one  Searcher  of  hearts ;  and  he  has  said, 
'The  wicked  shall  not  go  unpunished.'" 

"Have  patience,  my  Christian  friend!"  said  Joe,  "and  be 
not  alarmed,  lest  I  escape  the  damnation  you  seem  to  covet 
for  all  who  don't  believe  as  you  do.  I  have  said  that  all 
human  thoughts  that  the  world  had  known  in  Shakspeare's 
day  seemed  to  have  passed  through  his  capacious,  refining 
mind ;  but  his  thoughts  were  of  the  earth,  earthy.  There 
was  one,  long  before  Shakspeare,  'whose  shoe-latchets  he  was 


m 


96  GOMEItY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

not  worthy  to  unloose.'  '  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart, 
There  is  no  God ; '  and  many  men  accounted  wise  have  said 
the  same :  and  they  have  sought  to  prove  that  the  Son  of 
man  was  no  other  than  a  man  ;  for  that,  before  he  appeared 
on  the  earth,  other  wise  and  good  men  had  enunciated 
many  of  his  doctrines.  But  I  say,  that,  as  all  human 
thoughts  found  place  in  Shakspeare's  mind,  so  all  that  the 
world  had  known  of  the  divine  character  and  attributes 
found  expression  and  illustration  in  the  words  and  life  of 
Christ.  Nothing  godlike  was  ever  spoken  by  saint  or  pro- 
phet but  that  it  came  from  Jesus'  lips  with  a  finer  sense,  a 
diviner  influence.  His  thoughts  and  conceptions  were  as 
high  above  Shakspeare's  as  heaven  is  higher  than  the  earth. 
Shakspeare  could  reveal  the  human  heart  to  its  innermost 
depths ;  but  the  divinity  as  shown  in  the  life  of  Christ  was 
beyond  him.  He  could  depict  the  workings  of  Hamlet's 
thoughtful,  vacillating  mind ;  but  he  never  imagined  a 
character  with  that  faith  in  the  divine  power,  that  it  would 
say  to  his  followers,  '  Leave  all,  and  follow  me.'  He  could 
show  the  moving  springs  of  kings  and  tyrants  that  made 
them  pronounce  remorseless  judgments  against  innocent 
offenders  and  fallen  favorites ;  but  the  sublimity  of  him 
who  said  to  the  woman  taken  in  sin,  '  Neither  do  I  condemn 
thee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more,'  was  not  of  the  human  kind ; 
and  you  may  search  Shakspeare,  from  the  'Tempest'  to 
'  Othello,'  and  you  will  find  nothing  bearing  the  impress  of 
divinity  like  that.  Devils  like  Iago,  and  monsters  like 
Macbeth,  and  lovers  like  Romeo  and  Juliet,  he  could 
draw  to  their  nicest  shade  of  thought ;  but  he  who  described 
the  returning  prodigal  was  possessed  with  those  divine  attri- 
butes never  limned  by  Shakspeare.  The  one  epitomized  the 
thoughts  of  men;  the  other,  the  attributes  of  God." 

At  this  apostrophe  or  panegyric  on  the  great  poet,  Seth 
looked  again  at  his  persecutor;  and,  for  the  first  time,  the 
truth  flashed  upon  his  mind,  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of 
Joe  Pumpagin,  of  whom  he  had  heard  much  during  his  visits 
at  Montgomery.  The  burly  form,  the  queer  nose  with  hori- 
zontal nostrils,  exactly  accorded  with  the  descriptions  he  had 
had  of  that  singular  individual ;  but  the  identity  of  the  man 
before  him  with  the  hero  of  the  "great  baby  ball"  and  the 
"great  drunk,"  of  which  he  had  heard  many  accounts,  had 
never  occurred  to  him  till  now,  when  he  heard  the  name  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  97 

Shakspeare,  and  then  the  truth  flashed  across  his  mind.  At 
once  his  boldness  and  his  spirit  of  contradiction  forsook  him. 
He  would  have  left  the  room ;  but  by  this  time  the  brawny 
figure  of  Joe  was  before  him,  and  he  quivered  and  gasped  as 
if  he  felt  that  his  last  hour  was  come. 

"  You  don't  believe  me,  then,  do  you  ?  "  said  Joe. 

"  Ye-es,  —  ye-es.     I  meant  no  offence." 

"  You  believe  all  that  about  Xenophon  ?  " 

"Yes,  — yes." 

"  And  about  the  sun  rising  in  the  west  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  that  it  is  midnight  just  after  sun-up  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes !  that  too.     Any  thing ! " 

"  Well,  it  is  well  you  do ;  but  hark  me,  my  beauty,  if  you 
ever  question  my  stories  again,  I  will  tell  a  tale  that  shall 
shut  you  in  prison  for  the  rest  of  your  days!" 

With  this  he  turned  away ;  and,  as  just  at  the  instant  a 
fresh  pitcher  of  smoking  flip  was  set  on  the  table,  he  turned 
to  fill  his  glass,  and,  as  he  did,  said,  as  if  musing  to  himself, 
"  O  Shakspeare,  Shakspeare !  well  might  you  say,  *  How 
this  world  is  given  to  lying ! ' "  Having  filled  his  own  glass, 
he  called  on  the  others  to  push  forward  theirs,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  found  that  Seth  did  not  come  up  to  share  the  third 
pitcher.  He  had  left,  discomfited ;  and  Joe,  looking  about, 
and  not  seeing  him,  resumed,  as  if  still  musing,  "'TJm!  the 
coward !  No  wonder  he  quails,  with  such  a  conscience  as 
he  carries  behind  those  restless,  villanous  eyes!  Ah,  yes! 
Shakspeare  was  right  when  he  said,  c  Thus  conscience  doth 
make  cowards  of  us  all ! ' " 

"You  are  rather  severe  on  our  friend  the  lawyer,"  said 
Col.  Bowles,  a  representative  from  the  western  part  of  the 
State. 

"  So  it  seems  to  me,"  said  another  member  of  the  General 
Court.  "I  am  not  personally  acquainted  with  him;  but  he 
is  reputed  to  be  a  very  respectable  man,  and  a  man  of  large 
wealth,  and  very  benevolent  and  conscientious." 

"Never  saw  the  man  in  my  life  till  I  saw  him  here,"  said 
Joe.  "  I  don't  know  his  name,  or  any  thing  about  him,  but 
his  face ;  and  I  tell  you  he  is  a  villain,  or  else  his  Creator 
don't  write  a  legible  hand  !  I  saw  villany  lurking  behind 
those  eyes;  and  dark  deeds  done  before  this  are  always 
shining  through  them,  spectacles  and  all ;  and  I  can  read,  as 


y»  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY: 

clearly  as  by  the  light  of  noonday,  the  acts  of  a  villain  in 
that  countenance.  I  have  seen  eyes  before  haunted  by  an 
evil  conscience;  and  I  tell  you  that  man  drinks  flip,  not 
because  he  likes  it,  but  to  drown  his  coward  conscience ! " 

"You  were  never  so  mistaken  in  all  your  life,"  said  Deacon 
Giles  of  Marblehead.  "I  know  Brother  Mettlar  well,  and 
I  am  proud  to  own  him  as  a  friend  and  a  brother.  He  is, 
indeed,  a  pillar  of  the  Church.  Some  men  are  tried  by  afflic- 
tion and  adversity,  and  some  by  the  more  trying  ordeal  of 
prosperity;  and  Brother  Mettlar  has  passed  through  that 
ordeal,  and  come  out  like  gold  seven  times  purified.  As  he 
has  grown  rich,  he  has  become  more  religious  and  benevolent ; 
and  the  vanities  of  this  world,  he  has  often  assured  me,  have 
far  less  attraction  for  him  than  in  the  days  when  he  was  poor. 
He  has  no  fellowship  with  sin  now :  far  from  it.  A  ser- 
vant-boy that  he  had  taken  from  the  alms-house  so  shocked 
bim  by  straying  on  the  Common  one  Sunday,  that  he  could 
not  restrain  himself  from  so  severely 'punishing  him,  that  he 
was  arraigned  before  the  police-court,  and  fined  for  it  fifty 
dollars.  But,  when  the  matter  was  brought  before  the  vestry, 
he  said  that  every  blow  inflicted  had  pained  him  twice  as 
much  as  the  boy;  but  his  abhorrence  of  sin  was  so  great,  that 
when  he  returned  from  church,  after  listening  to  a  most  con- 
vincing sermon  on  the  eternal  horrors  that  hang  around  the 
second  death,  his  conscience  would  neither  permit  sleep  to 
his  eyes,  nor  slumber  to  his  eyelids,  till  he  had  severely  pun- 
ished this  child  of  sin.  We  all  felt  our  own  too-frequent 
weaknesses  under  such  circumstances ;  and,  inasmuch  as  he 
had  given  the  church  a  new  communion-service  a  few  days 
before,  the  members  voted  to  raise  the  money  by  contribution 
to  pay  the  fine.  You  should  recollect,  sir,  that,  when  you 
speak  of  such  a  man  as  a  villain,  you  reflect  on  many  of  the 
most  substantial  and  most  religious  and  respectable  men  — 
and  women  too  —  in  Boston." 

"Your  panegyric  only  convinces  me  more  and  more  that 
he  is  a  villain,  — a  doubly-dyed,  damned  villain!  and  how 
men  of  sense  could  ever  be  deceived  by  such  a  hypocrite  is 
beyond  my  comprehension." 

"  Well :  it  is  idle  to  waste  breath  on  such  an  unbeliever. 
To  me,  the  life  of  Seth  Mettlar  is  a  bright  and  shining 
example,  and  shows  the  reward  that  follows  well-doing,  and 
trusting  in  divine  Providence.    Indeed,  his  remarkable  sue- 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  99 

cess  in  life  has  frequently  been  cited  as  proof  of  the  direct 
interposition  of  the  Lord,  and  is,  to  all  liberal  and  evangelical 
minds,  a  complete,  convincing  proof  of  special  providence, 
and  is  like  a  voice  from  the  other  world  rebuking  the  hea- 
thenish, infidel  idea  of  universal,  unchanging  law.  His  expe- 
rience is  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  lines,  — 

*  Religion  never  was  designed 
To  make  our  pleasures  less/  " 

"Why, how  was  that?  How  has  such  a  libel  on  humanity 
been  so  especially  favored  as  to  indicate  that  he  is  to  be 
imitated?" 

"  The  manner  in  which  his  property  came  to  him,  or  rather 
was  thrown  upon  him,  was  most  singular;  and, since  we  have 
got  into  this  discussion,  I  will,  with  the  permission  of  the 
company,  relate  how  it  was." 

"  Let  us  hear  how  it  was,  then,  when  the  Devil  was  upper- 
most!" 

Deacon  Giles  rolled  up  his  eyes  at  this,  as  a  pious  ejacu- 
lation against  the  unregenerate  unbeliever.  Then,  turning 
away  from  him  as  something  to  be  shunned,  and  directing 
his  conversation  to  others,  but  intending  it  especially  for  Joe, 
he  began : — 

"  You  have  all  of  you  heard  of  old  Col.  Scranton,  who  lived 
in  this  city,  and  died  some  eight  or  ten  years  ago,  leaving 
one  of  the  largest  estates  ever  acquired,  up  to  that  time,  by 
any  one  man  in  this  part  of  the  world.  Well,  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  Seth  Mettlar,  whom  this  man  has  just  abused 
so  outrageously,  was  a  poor  lawyer,  who  got  his  living  by 
copying,  arranging,  and  adjusting  accounts,  and  doing  the 
drudgery  of  such  lawyers  as  were  more  profitably  employed. 
In  doing  such  things,  he  was  known  to  be  very  careful  and 
precise ;  and  when  Col.  Scranton  died,  leaving  his  books  and 
papers  in  confusion,  he  was  engaged  to  adjust  and  arrange 
them.  Well,  as  he  went  on  overhauling  and  assorting  them, 
he  discovered  that  long,  long  years  before,  —  in  fact,  when 
Col.  Scranton  was  a  young  man,  —  he  had  sold  a  piece  of 
land  to  a  man  away  back  in  the  woods,  and  made  a  deed  for 
it,  and  forgot  all  about  it,  and  neglected  to  deliver  it.  Col. 
Scranton,  as  everybody  knows,  was  a  very  honorable  man ; 
but  he  had  a  very  loose  way  of  doing  business.  He  carried 
his  accounts  very  much  in  his  head;  and,  it  is  supposed,  had 


100  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

forgotten  about  having  sold  this  land,  or  that  he  had  ever 
made  out  and  executed  a  deed  for  it.  Indeed,  it  is  known 
that  the  land  was  not  fully  paid  for,  but  that  another  payment 
was  expected  on  it,  and  that  the  deed  had  already  been 
made  out,  ready  to  deliver  on  application.  But,  before  it  was 
called  for,  it  would  seem  that  the  man  and  all  his  family 
were  killed  by  the  British  and  Indians  during  the  time  of 
the  war;  and,  as  this  deed  was  never  asked  for,  the  land  was 
sold  again,  after  a  number  of  years,  to  a  man  by  the  name  of 
Gomery." 

"  Gomery,  sir ! "  exclaimed  Joe,  turning  his  face  to  the  shad- 
ow, that  the  interest  he  was  taking  might  not  be  observed. 

"Gomery,  or  Montgomery:  Gomery  I  think  it  is.  Yes: 
Gomery  is  the  name  of  the  family,  and  Montgomery  the 
name  of  the  town.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  he  bought  the 
same  tract  of  land  that  had  before  been  sold  to  the  man  who 
had  been  killed,  and  went  and  settled  on  it;  and  was  just 
getting  fairly  started  in  the  world,  when  he  died,  —  he  was 
frozen  to  death,  I  think,  —  and  left  a  son,  who  inherited  the 
property.  This  son,  in  time,  grew  up,  and  became  a  lawyer ; 
and  the  tract  of  land  became  the  site  of  a  thrifty  village,  and 
very  valuable.  But  observe  the  ways  of  Providence :  this 
Gomery  was  not  on  the  Lord's  side,  and,  of  course,  the  Lord  was 
not  on  his  side ;  and,  when  Seth  Mettlar  came  to  overhaul  Col. 
Scranton's  papers,  he  found  a  deed  and  letter  showing  that 
the  tract  bought  by  Gomery  had  been  sold,  long  before,  to 
another  man.  This  was  a  discovery  sorely  trying  to  a  man 
so  scrupulous  and  conscientious  as  Seth ;  and  he  has  frequent- 
ly said  he  had  never  so  felt  his  own  weakness  and  sinfulness 
as  on  this  occasion.  It  was  in  wrestling  with  this  temp- 
tation, he  has  assured  me,  that  he  first  was  awakened  to  his 
lost  and  unregenerate  state,  and  experienced  the  saving  grace, 
and  was  taken  into  the  church." 

"Do  you  remember  the  name  of  the  man  that  first  bought 
the  land  of  Col.  Scranton?"  quietly  asked  Joe. 

"  Gault.  You  must  have  heard,  when  you  were  a  boy, 
about  the  Gault  massacre.  This  Gault  was  the  same  man 
killed  by  the  Indians  and  British." 

"I  think  I  have  heard  something  about  it,"  said  Joe. 
"  Was  the  whole  family  killed  ?  " 

"No;  and  that  is  just  where  the  special  providence  comes 
in.    One  of  the  children  was  saved,  as  it  were,  by  a  divine 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  101 

interposition  in  behalf  of  Seth  Mettlar,  even  before  he  was 
born,  that,  in  his  own  person,  he  might  be  an  evidence  to 
confound  the  sceptics,  and  build  up  Zion.  This  boy,  accord- 
ing to  all  accounts,  was  as  graceless  a  young  scamp  as  ever 
kept  clear  of  the  gallows.  He  ran  away  to  sea  while  still  a 
boy,  and  was  believed  to  be  dead,  as  he  was  never  heard  of 
till  after  this  deed  had  been  found  by  Mr.  Mettlar." 

"Perhaps  he  was  dug  up  on  purpose  for  the  occasion," 
suggested  Joe. 

"  When  Seth  found  the  deed,  and  learned  that  the  Gomery 
Estate  was  held  wrongfully  and  tortuously,  and  that  it  right- 
fully belonged  to  the  heirs  of  Gault,  if  any  survived,  he  put 
an  advertisement  in  the  papers  ;  and,  the  very  next  day,  the 
man  sought  landed  in  Boston,  where  he  had  not  been  before 
for  twenty  years.  Now,  you  infidels  and  sceptics  may  call 
it  a  strange  coincidence,  I  call  it  a  special  providence,  in 
behalf  of  that  good  man  whom  this  stranger  here  has  been 
abusing  so  shamefully." 

The  members  of  the  General  Court  looked  upon  Joe  as  a 
monster ;  but  Joe,  who  had  turned  to  face  the  defender  of 
Seth's  character,  looked  the  very  picture  of  innocence,  and 
his  merry  eye  shone  brighter  than  ever. 

"  What  a  wretch  I  am!"  he  said ;  " but  go  on  with  your 
story." 

"  It  was  only  a  day  or  two  after  the  advertisement  had 
been  in  the  papers,  when  the  man  so  long  missing  turned  up. 
He  was  a  rough  sailor,  and  a  good  deal  intoxicated;  and 
used  language  so  profane,  that  Brother  Mettlar  was  greatly 
shocked.  He  could  not  reconcile  it  with  his  conscience  to 
inform  so  base  a  character  that  there  was  a  large  property 
belonging  to  him  that  he  might  possibly  recover,  and  which 
he  knew  would  be  spent  in  sin  and  riotous  living:  so  he  got 
him  to  sign  a  quit-claim  deed  to  this  tract,  which  was  duly 
witnessed  by  two  law-students  in  an  adjoining  office,  one  of 
whom  died  of  consumption  the  same  season,  and  the  other 
was  afterwards  a  principal  witness  in  the  case.  For  this, 
Seth  paid  the  poor  wretch  one  hundred  dollars.  But  after 
the  man  was  gone,  he  has  since  told  me,  he  was  greatly  ex- 
ercised in  mind,  lest  his  own  selfish  interest  or  his  own  car- 
nal heart  was  tempting  him  to  some  great  sin  ;  and  he  was 
on  the  point  of  following  him,  when  he  bethought  himself 
that  he  would  wait  for  a  sign  from  the  Lord.  So  he  took  a 
s* 


102  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

candle,  and  set  it  in  the  window ;  and,  taking  out  bis  watch, 
this  scrupulous,  God-fearing  man  said  to  himself,  'I  will 
wait  five  minutes;  and  if,  in  that  time,  the  light  is  not  blown 
out,  I  will  go  after  the  man,  ask  him  to  give  me  up  the 
money,  and  destroy  the  deed.'  He  waited  for  five  minutes  ; 
and,  though  he  moved  the  candle  twice  (once  to  the  window 
and  once  to  near  the  door),  it  was  not  blown  out;  and  ac- 
cordingly he  set  forth  to  find  the  man.  Now,  had  the  Lord 
intended  he  should  find  him,  and  destroy  the  deed,  of  course 
he  would  have  directed  his  steps  to  where  he  was.  But, 
though  he  walked  up  and  down  through  several  streets,  he 
saw  nothing  of  him;  and  when  convinced  by  this  token 
that  the  Lord  did  not  intend  for  him  to  meet  him,  but  that 
he  should  retain  the  deed  to  himself,  he  returned  to  his 
office,  and,  falling  on  his  knees,  returned  thanks  to  God 
for  the  divine  light  that  had  been  vouchsafed  to  him  under 
these  trying  circumstances.  Then  he  made  an  oath  to  de- 
vote his  life  to  piety  and  virtue,  and  on  bended  knees  prom- 
ised, that,  if  this  property  ever  came  into  his  hands,  he  would 
devote  it  to  charitable  and  pious  purposes.  After  that  his 
mind  was  at  rest ;  for  his  duty  was  clear.  A  few  days  after, 
an  unknown  man  was  killed  in  a  low  house  on  the  T ;  and 
Seth,  and  one  of  the  witnesses  of  the  deed,  identified  him  as 
the  poor  sailor,  who,  like  Esau,  had,  for  a  mess  of  pottage, 
given  up  his  birthright." 

"  But  what  became  of  that  other  lawyer  man  who  thought 
he  owned  the  property,  —  Gomery,  or  Montgomery  ?  Did 
he  give  it  up  without  resistance?  I  thought  that  undis- 
turbed possession  in  this  country,  for  a  great  number  of 
years,  of  itself  created  a  title." 

"  I  will  explain  all  about  that.  The  man  Gomery  stood  a 
terrible  lawsuit.  He  called  Mr.  Mettlar  all  sorts  of  hard 
names,  and  said  he  was  a  swindler,  a  forger, and  a  hypocrite; 
but  it  did  not  help  him  any,  for  the  Rev.  Dr.  Bloggett,  at 
whose  church  he  worshipped,  sent  a  letter  to  the  court,  signed 
by  all  the  deacons  and  leading  church-members,  stating  that 
Seth  was  a  most  exemplary  and  truthful  man,  and  one  of  the 
pillars  of  the  church.  When  this  letter  was  read  in  the  court, 
it  brought  tears  into  Seth's  eyes,  he  was  so  affected.  He 
had  been  grossly  abused,  during  the  trial,  by  Gomery  and 
his  counsel ;  and  they  even  had  the  wickedness  to  accuse 
Seth  of  forgery,  and  to  deny  that  he  had  ever  seen  the  man 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  103 

Gault,  whose  signature  was  witnessed  by  the  young   law- 
students." 

"What  did  they  say  about  it?  Didn't  they  contradict 
each  other  in  this  great  conspiracy  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

Deacon  Giles  turned  a  look  of  mingled  scorn  and  disgust 
on  the  doubter,  and  went  on  :  — - 

"  Unfortunately,  one  of  the  witnesses  had  died  before  the 
suit  was  commenced;  but  the  other  gave  full  and  clear  evi- 
dence :  and,  though  the  other  side  brought  the  charge  of 
perjury  against  him,  they  could  not  sustain  it;  and  the  ver- 
dict of  the  jury,  in  Seth's  favor,  completely  vindicated  his 
character.  But  the  conduct  of  Seth  after  the  trial  was  the 
most  characteristic  and  forgiving ;  and  had  not  Gomery  been 
an  unbeliever,  and  '  little  better  than  one  of  the  wicked'"  — 

"Don't  profane  Shakspeare  by  such  a  tongue  as  yours," 
said  Joe. 

"I  say,  if  this  Gomery  had  not  been  an  austere  man  and 
an  unbeliever,  he  would  have  seen  the  hand  of  the  Lord  in 
this  affliction." 

"The  Devil's  own  fingers !  "  broke  in  Joe. 

"  He  would  have  seen  the  hand  of  the  Lord  in  this  judg- 
ment, and  submitted  without  a  murmur.  But  his  hard  and 
rebellious  heart  was  at  enmity  against  God,  and  he  refused 
to  abide  by  the  verdict,  and  appealed ;  and,  as  if  to  punish 
him  for  his  stubbornness,  the  verdict  was  set  aside,  and,  at 
the  next  trial,  he  lost  it  again ;  and  after  two  more  trials, 
extending,  in  all,  through  a  period  of  four  years,  and  spend- 
ing a  vast  amount  of  money,  he  finally  lost  it  before  the  Su- 
preme Court. 

"  After  the  case  was  finally  closed,  and  there  was  no  fur- 
ther appeal,  the  friends  of  Seth  thought  it  due  to  himself 
that  he  should  vindicate  his  character  by  bringing  a  suit  for 
libel  against  Gomery.  He  was  very  reluctant  to  do  it,  as  he 
is  of  that  meekness  and  gentle  character,  that  he  forgives 
his  enemies  until  seventy  times  seven.  But,  as  he  was  a  lead- 
ing member  of  the  church,  it  was  considered  due  to  it  that 
he  should  not  let  his  own  personal  feeling  stand  in  the  way 
of  the  interests  of  Zion.  The  suit  was  brought ;  and  Seth 
got  a  heavy  verdict  for  damages.  This  completely  ruined 
the  proud  squire ;  for  he  was  left  without  a  dollar  in  the 
world.  But  he  was  still  as  rebellious  and  proud  as  ever, 
and  refused  to  see  that  all  his  troubles  were  a  judgment  on 
him  for  his  wickedness." ' 


104  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

"Did  he  leave  the  place  after  that?"  asked  Joe. 

"No:  though  his  children  (the  most  or  all  of  them)  were 
married  off,  and  were  rich  people,  and  offered  him  a  home  in 
New  York  or  Philadelphia,  he  said  he  never  would  give  rest 
to  the  sole  of  his  foot  till  he  got  his  own  back,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  kicking  that  forger  and  scoundrel,  Mettlar,  into 
the  street.  The  idea!  Brother  Mettlar  a  forger  and  scoun- 
drel! 

"But  this  wicked,  worldly  man,  Gomery,  had  still  greater 
punishment  reserved  for  him  by  an  avenging  Providence. 
The  people  to  whom  he  had  sold  land  came  upon  him  for 
their  purchase-money,  and  that,  too,  when  he  had  nothing; 
and,  because  he  could  not  pay  them,  he  could  not  walk  the 
streets  without  being  assailed  by  them,  and  called  a  swin- 
dler and  a  cheat.  On  the  other  hand,  the  new  owner  of  the 
property  was  very  liberal  with  those  who  had  bought  of 
Gomery,  and  compromised  with  them  on  very  liberal  terms, 
receiving  a  small  sum  in  cash,  and  taking  notes  to  be  paid  at 
such  time  as  should  be  convenient.  But  the  folks  said  that 
the  hardest  blow  to  Gomery  and  his  family  was  not  the  loss 
of  his  property,  or  the  respect  of  the  people.  It  was  this  : 
His  youngest  son,  who  was  said  to  be  a  sort  of  dreamer,  had 
been  engaged  for  a  long  time  to  a  young  woman  in  the  place, 
and  she  jilted  him  to  marry  Seth.  She  was  married  about  a 
year  ago ;  and  she  is  now  down  at  Nahant  to  get  the  benefit 
of  the  sea-air,  as  her  health  is  very  feeble,  which  causes  her 
loving  and  affectionate  husband  great  anxiety.  A  year  and 
a  half  ago,  she  was  up  here;  and  it  was  the  unanimous  opin- 
ion that  she  was  the  handsomest  woman  that  ever  walked 
the  streets  of  Boston.  Seth  is,  indeed,  a  most  fortunate 
man.  His  life  is  a  bright  example  to  the  young,  as  it  shows 
the  rewards  of  virtue,  and  that  a  man  whose  thoughts  are 
on  spiritual  things  may  yet  prosper  in  wTorldly  things.  I 
trust  that  this  man  here  will  now  acknowledge  that  he  has 
done  great  injustice  to  a  most  worthy  man,  and  will  apolo- 
gize to  him  when  he  shall  meet  him  again.  I  dare  say  he  will 
ask  forgiveness  for  you  on  his  knees  this  night  before  he 
sleeps." 

Joe  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  "I  will 
certainly  apologize  when  I  see  him." 

"  That  is  right,  that  is  right ! "  said  Deacon  Giles,  approach- 
ing as  if  to  take  his  hand  and  offer  forgiveness. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  105 

"  But,"  he  continued,  rising  from  his  chair,  "  my  apology- 
will  have  a  sting  in  it.  I  tell  you  all,  he  is  a  villain  of  the 
darkest  dye ;  and  as  to  this  man  who  has  been  defending 
and  bepraising  him,  I  can  hardly  tell  whether  he  is  more  a 
knave  or  a  fool !  I  think  he  is  a  good  deal  of  both !  Does 
he  think  us  such  shallow-pated  dolts  as  not  to  see  that  his 
own  narrative  proves  his  friend  Seth,  as  he  calls  him,  a  vil- 
lanous,  lying  hypocrite  ?  I  tell  you  he  is  so !  He  is  capa- 
ble of  any  crime,  and  has  already  committed  enough  to  send 
him  to  State  Prison  ;  and  that  is  where  his  infamous  career 
will  at  last  bring  up.  But  I  have  no  breath  to  waste  on  such 
a  knave  as  he  is,  or  such  a  canting  fool  as  his  defender  here. 
Good-evening,  gentlemen !  Tell  that  deep-scheming  villain 
for  me,  that  the  day  of  judgment  is  at  hand ;  for  that  there 
is  a  just  God  that  rules  in  the  earth,  not  to  be  appeased  by 
a  moiety  of  a  stolen  fortune." 

With  this  outbreak,  Joe  left  the  room,  slamming  the  door 
after  him,  and  leaving  the  assembled  guests  staring  wildly  at 
each  other.  He  retired  to  his  own  room ;  and  the  stage- 
coach that  left  the  City  Tavern  at  four  o'clock  the  next 
morning  bore  him  away  as  passenger  in  the  direction  of 
Montgomery. 


106  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY 


CHAPTER    VII. 

"  But  grant  the  virtues  of  a  temperate  prime, 
Blest  with  an  age  exempt  from  scorn  or  crime ; 
An  age  that  melts  with  unperceived  decay, 
And  glides  with  modest  innocence  away ; 
Whose  peaceful  day  benevolence  endears, 
Whose  night  congratulating  conscience  cheers, 
The  general  favorite  as  the  general  friend : 
Such  age  there  is ;  and  who  shall  wish  its  end  ?  "  —  Dr.  Johnson. 

A  great  change  has  taken  place  in  the  village  of  Mont- 
gomery. It  is  now  a  thriving  manufacturing  town ;  and  not 
only  that,  but  the  social  relations  of  some  of  our  best  friends, 
whose  acquaintance  we  made  a  long  time  ago,  have,  as  good, 
credulous  Deacon  Giles  has  already  informed  us,  been  mate- 
rially changed.  Gomery  of  Montgomery  is  no  longer  the 
great  man  of  the  place.  His  property  is  all  gone ;  and 
though  he  continues  to  live  in  the  old  house  at  the  Pivot, 
which  he  had  built  for  his  young  bride  many  years  before,  it 
was  no  longer  his  house.  That,  together  with  the  old  house 
on  the  hill  in  which  he  had  been  born,  had  fallen  with  the 
rest  of  the  property  into  the  possession  of  the  conscientious 
Seth  Mettlar. 

When  the  people  of  Montgomery  first  learned  that  the 
title  of  Squire  Gomery  to  the  original  Gault  or  Gomery  tract 
was  called  in  question,  there  was  great  excitement  through- 
out the  village  and  adjoining  country.  Most  of  the  vil- 
lage was  located  on  this  tract :  the  water-power  was  included 
in  it,  and  all  the  valuable  factories,  shops,  and  stores  were 
located  on  it.  The  first  outbreak  of  expression  was,  that 
some  great  fraud  and  swindle  was  contemplated.  "What!" 
said  every  one,  "has  not  Freeborn  Gomery  lived  on  this 
tract,  man  and  boy,  for  more  than  fifty  years  ?  and  was  not 
his  father  before  him  one  of  the  first  settlers  in  this  part  of 
the  country?  and  have  we  not  held  undisputed  possession  of 
our  homes,  some  of  us,  for  thirty  or  forty  years?  and  who 
can  now  disturb  us?"     When  the  report  first  started, it  hap- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  107 

pened  that  Gomery  of  Montgomery  and  his  wife  were  not 
at  home.  They  had  gone  on  a  visit  to  their  children  in 
New  York  and  Philadelphia,  and  had  been  absent  about  six 
weeks,  and  were  daily  expected,  when  this  rumor  first  got 
about.  Hence  there  was  intense  anxiety  for  their  return ; 
for,  no  matter  how  absurd  or  ridiculous  a  bad  rumor  may  be, 
it  nevertheless  has  the  power  to  annoy  and  disturb. 

It  was  not  long  that  the  anxious  people  had  to  wait  for 
their  return.  Only  three  days  after  the  report  was  first  put 
in  circulation,  the  family  carriage  of  the  squire  was  seen  to 
drive  through  the  village  just  at  dusk;  and,  but  for  the  ever- 
officious  little  Diller,  it  would  have  passed  directly  through 
to  the  Pivot.  His  tongue  had  been  running  on  the  subject 
for  the  past  three  days ;  and,  when  he  saw  the  familiar  car- 
riage of  the  squire  pass  within  thirty  feet  of  his  door,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  calling  out  for  him  to  stop. 

"Halloo  there,  Square  Gomery!  is  that  you?  Stop  a 
minute!" 

The  carriage  stopped;  and  the  squire  put  out  his  head,  and 
said,  "  How  are  you,  Mr.  Diller  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  but 
Mrs.  Gomery  and  myself  are  both  very  tired,  and  want  to  get 
home." 

"  It  is  all  a  lie,  —  it  is  all  a  lie  !  I  told  'em  it  was  all  a  lie, 
and  all  a  trick  of  some  of  them  thieving  Boston  lawyers !  " 
said  Diller,  with  his  usual  respect  to  what  his  interlocutor  was 
saying. 

"  What's  this  ?  what's  this  ?  "  said  the  lawyer,  suspecting 
from  Diller's  manner  that  some  catastrophe  had  happened 
during  his  absence. 

"  Well,  I  told  'em  that  there  was  nothing  in  it :  but  the  dod- 
blasted  fools  would  keep  on  talkin'  about  it,  though  I  told 
'em to  do  as  I  did,  and  hold  their  tongues;  for  it  would  all 
be  cleared  up  as  straight  as  the  last  kink  in  a  pig's  tail  when 
you  come  back." 

"  Do  tell  me  what  you  are  talking  about,  or  I  may  as  well 
move  along,"  said  the  lawyer,  drawing  up  his  reins,  and  chir- 
ruping to  his  horses  to  start. 

"  I'll  tell  'em  it's  all  a  lie,  then,  and  they  needn't  be  skeered 
about  losin'  their  property ;  and  it's  jist  as  I  told  'em  be- 
fore; and"  — 

"What  is  all  this  about?  "  said  Gomery  to  our  old  acquaint- 
ance Craig,  who  with   several  others,  when  they  saw  the 


108  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  *. 

Gomery  carriage  standing  in  the  street,  could  not  resist 
approaching  to  learn  the  lawyer's  opinion  on  the  startling 
report  that  had  reached  the  village  since  he  had  left  it. 

"  What  is  your  opinion  about  it,  square  ?  "  said  Craig. 

"My  opinion  about  what?  Do  you  want  to  drive  me 
#razy  ?  What  has  happened  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"There,  there!  it  is  just  as  I  said.  I  told  you  the  square 
would  make  it  all  right,"  said  Diller. 

"  Tell  me,  in  mercy's  name,  Mr.  Craig,  what  all  this  means ! " 

"What,  you  haven't  heard  the  report  that  is  going  about?" 

"  No,  not  a  word  !  I  am  just  now  on  my  way  home  from 
New  York ;  and  here  I  am  met  by  Diller,  so  excited,  that 
he  can  only  buzz  like  a  bumble-bee." 

"  Well,  the  story  is  that  your  title  to  all  this  property  about 
here  was  never  good  for  anything;  that,  at  the  time  it  was 
bought  by  your  father,  it  belonged  to  another  man ;  and  that 
all  of  us  who  hold  under  you  or  your  father  have  no  more 
title  than  you  have." 

"  Why,  who  has  been  setting  you  by  the  ears  with  such 
nonsense  as  that  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  how  the  story  has  got  abroad  ;  but  it  goes 
that  the  land  was  bought  by  somebody  else  before  your  father, 
and  his  heirs  have  found  the  deed,  and  we  all  of  us  must  give 
up  all  our  property,  and,  besides  that,  pay  damage  for  keep- 
ing it  out  of  the  rightful  owner's  possession  for  so  many 
years." 

"Well,  if  that  is  your  story,  I  can  set  your  minds  at  rest 
very  easily.  It  don't  matter  now  who  owned  this  property 
before  my  father  did,  or  whether  he  bought  from  the  right 
owner  or  not.  The  law  is,  that  twenty  years'  undisputed  pos- 
session makes  a  perfect  title ;  and  as  it  is  now  nearly  sixty 
years  since  my  father  bought  this  tract,  known  as  the  Gault 
Tract,  and  as  no  one  has  ever  questioned  his  title  before,  it  is 
clear  that  this  story  has  no  sort  of  just  foundation.  Your 
titles  are  as  good  as  law  can  make  them ;  and  you  can  all 
rest  easy  on  that  score.  So,  now,  good-evening;  for  I  want 
to  get  home,  as  we  are  both  very  tired."  With  this  he  whipped 
up  his  tired  horses ;  and  the  crowd  that  had  gathered  round, 
including  several  women  who  had  come  up  to  the  other  side 
of  the  carriage  to  exchange  news,  and  gossip  with  Mrs.  Gom- 
ery, were  left  standing  in  the  road  to  discuss  the  opinion  that 
had  just  been  delivered  by  the  respected  autocrat  of  the 
town. 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  109 

A  bad  rumor  is  a  bad  thing;  and  though  Freeborn  Gomery 
could  not  imagine  any  contingency  in  which  the  one  he  had 
just  heard  could  have  the  least  foundation,  yet  his  thoughts 
were  disarranged  by  it;  and  he  did  not  approach  his  house 
with  the  same  calm  satisfaction  and  pleasant  reveries  that  he 
had  been  indulging  in  for  hours  before.  The  journey  home- 
wards of  this  worthy  couple  had  been,  up  to  this  point,  a  season 
of  perpetual  delight.  That  poet  was  a  spooney,  in  spite  of  his 
name  and  fame,  who  said,  — 

"  There's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 
As  love's  young  dream." 

Had  he  said  there's  nothing  sweet  having  so  much  bitter 
mixed  with  it,  I  would  not  have  disputed  him ;  but  when  he 
compares  the  fitful  pleasure,  the  feverish  anxiety,  the  jealous 
fears,  of  young  love,  with  the  calm  enjoyment,  the  sweet  con- 
tent, and  the  retrospective,  present,  and  prospective  realiza- 
tion of  that  love  cemented  by  years  of  trial,  of  affection,  and 
experience,  and  gives  the  preference  to  the  former,  he  proves 
himself  to  be  very  young,  or  an  incorrigible  booby. 

During  this  long  drive  homeward,  Freeborn  Gomery  and 
his  wife  had  talked  over  the  events  of  their  lives,  the  inci- 
dents of  the  childhood  of  their  children,  the  peculiarities  of 
each,  their  present  condition  and  prospects ;  and  the  sum  total 
of  it  all  was,  that  they  were  content.  They  could  see  little  in 
the  past  to  regret,  and  nothing  to  hope  for  in  the  future  that 
they  did  not  anticipate.  They  were  proud  and  happy  in  their 
children ;  and  each  felt  grateful  to  the  other  for  the  faithful 
discharge  of  duties  towards  them.  They  were  happy,  too,  in 
the  love  and  esteem  of  their  neighbors,  both  far  and  near,  in 
and  around  Montgomery;  and,  as  they  drew  near  the  place, 
they  thought  of  the  happy  greeting  they  would  receive  from 
them,  and  of  the  quiet  social  enjoyment  that  would  be  theirs 
in  the  rustic  intercourse  with  their  old  and  well-tried  friends. 
Thoughts  of  this  kind  had  been  passing  through  the  minds  of 
the  two  but  a  short  time  before  they  approached  the  village ; 
and,  in  a  half-musing  tone,  Gomery  repeated  to  himself  these 
lines,  so  expressive  of  deep  gratitude  to  the  divine  Giver:  — 

"  Ten  thousand,  thousand  precious  gifts 
My  daily  thanks  employ ; 
Nor  is  the  least  a  cheerful  heart, 
That  tastes  these  gifts  with  joy." 

vol.  n.  10 


110  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

But,  of  all  the  blessings  which  they  prized  and  loved,  they 
hoped  most  from  the  son,  who  now,  though  a  young  man,  had 
never  yet  left,  but  for  the  short. period  of  his  college-terms, 
the  parental  roof.  In  him  there  was  something  so  unworldly, 
so  Shelley-like,  so  individual,  that  he  had  always  been  to  them 
a  sort  of  superior  being ;  and  though  his  promise  to  the  rest 
of  the  world  was  feeble,  and  his  worldly  wisdom  so  scant  as 
to  make  his  simplicity  a  by-word,  it  seemed  to  them  that  he 
saw  even  with  a  finer  eye,  and  a  more  comprehensive  vision, 
than  other  men.  What  would  come  of  all  these  peculiarities, 
they  could  not  foresee ;  but,  in  his  broad  perception  and  large 
charity,  they  saw  that  which  ever  made  their  hearts  glad. 

And  yet,  notwithstanding  all  the  blessings  they  enjoyed, 
the  evil  rumor  gave  them  an  uneasy  feeling,  and  somewhat 
damped  the  joy  they  felt  as  they  ascended  the  long  incline 
from  the  village  to  the  Pivot.  But,  as  they  neared  the 
house,  they  saw,  through  the  dusk,  a  figure  standing  beside 
the  road.  "  Freeborn,"  said  Mrs.  Gomery,  "  there  is  Walter, 
and  on  the  very  spot  where  he  stood  when  he  came  to  meet 
us  to  inquire  after  Old  Joe." 

Though  none  saw  them,  yet  I  warrant  you  there  were 
tears  standing  in  two  pair  of  eyes  at  this  thought. 

When  thejmorning  broke,  and  Freeborn  Gomery  opened 
his  eyes  in  his*o\vn  long-familiar  bed-room,  he  felt  a  thrill  of 
rest,  if  such  a  thing  there  be,  pass  through  his  frame ;  and 
he  thought,  that,  however  pleasant  it  was  to  travel  abroad, 
staying  at  home  was  vastly  better.  But  this  sense  of  satis- 
faction was  soon  succeeded  by  a  feeling  that  something  had 
occurred  the  night  before  that  somehow  jarred  the  harmony 
of  his  life.  What  it  was,  he  could  not  at  first  remember; 
but  that  the  strings  of  his  nature  had  been  roughly  touched 
was  evident  from  the  discordant  vibrations  that  still  faintly 
swept  through  his  harmonized  and  contented  being.  It  was 
some  time  before  the  cause  of  this  occurred  to  him :  but  ere 
long,  in  thinking  of  the  village  and  of  what  he  had  to  do 
there  that  day,  the  incidents  of  the  night  before  were  re- 
called to  his  mind,  and  the  excited  figure  of  little  Diller  was 
before  him ;  and  this  set  him  into  such  a  fit  of  laughing,  that 
he  was  compelled  to  forego  his  "  forty  morning  winks." 

The  middle  of  the  forenoon,  however,  found  the  squire  at 
his  office ;  though  it  was  now  years  since  writ,  warrant,  or 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  Ill 

summons  had  passed  through  its  doors  in  search  of  witness 
or  delinquent.  It  had  been  occupied  more  or  less,  during  the 
past  year  or  two,  by  Walter,  where  it  was  said  he  was  study- 
ing law.  But,  though  many  had  come  to  him  to  ask  advice  or 
engage  counsel,  he  had  never  been  solicited  to  take  charge  of 
a  case.  He  had  heard  of  the  famous  case  of  Craig  vs.  Cook, 
and  invariably  alluded  to  it  when  a  client  sought  his  advice. 
He  always  advised  against  litigation;  and  on  several  occa- 
sions, when  the  amount  at  issue  was  small,  he  offered  to  make 
up  the  difference  from  his  own  pocket.  This  offer  having 
been  accepted  on  a  certain  occasion  by  a  person  who  it  was 
supposed  had  threatened  a  suit  for  this  purpose,  so  great 
a  commotion  was  caused  in  the  village,  that  the  man  was 
finally  compelled  by  the  public  sentiment  to  sell  his  property, 
and  emigrate  to  a  distant  town.  Hence  the  law-office,  over 
the  door  of  which  could  still  be  seen,  in  letters  scarcely  legi- 
ble, "  Freeborn  Gomery,  Attorney-at-Law,"  was  never  visit- 
ed by  litigants  or  litigious  persons :  on  the  contrary,  such 
people  always  passed  by  with  a  sneaking,  stealthy  tread, 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  that  of  a  debtor  who  fears  a  hail  as 
he  passes  a  creditor's  house. 

But  this  morning,  however,  as  it  was  known  that  the  old 
squire  had  returned,  a  large  number  of  people  called  in  dur- 
ing the  forenoon  to  give  him  a  welcome  back,  and  feel  the 
warm  grasp  of  his  honest  hand.  There  was  also  a  strong 
desire  to  hear  from  his  own  lips  the  assurance  that  the  late 
rumors  affecting  the  tenure  of  property  in  Montgomery  could 
not  have  any  real  foundation.  This  he  gave  without  hesita- 
tion, assuring  them  that  their  long  possession,  without  dispute 
or  question,  was  sufficient  to  perfect  a  title,  however  defective 
originally ;  that  the  law  on  that  point  was  as  clearly  defined 
and  well  established  as  the  natural  right  of  every  man  to  eat 
the  bread  his  own  hands  had  earned,  and  in  practice  was 
much  more  uniformly  respected.  The  village  people  were 
also  eager  to  hear  what  the  squire  had  to  say  of  the  strange 
and  interesting  things  he  had  seen  in  the  great  cities ;  and 
were  equally  anxious  to  tell  him  of  what  had  transpired, 
during  his  absence,  in  his  own  neighborhood. 

"  Silas  Barton  has  sold  his  farm,"  said  Ebenezer  Otis  in 
the  course  of  the  conversation ;  "  and  everybody,  I  b'lieve, 
is  in  hopes  he  is  going  to  move  away." 

'  Sold  his  farm  !    Who  has  bought  it  ?  "  asked  the  squire. 


112  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY! 

"It  is  that  tall  man,  with  silver-bowed  spectacles,  who 
was  here  a  year  or  two  ago :  Mettlar,  or  Meddler,  I  think  his 
name  is." 

"Little  cause,  then,  I  think  you  have  to  rejoice  at  the 
change." 

"  Why,  square  !  how  is  that  ?  I  thought  Barton  had  given 
you  a  sight  of  trouble." 

"  So  he  has.  He  has  been  the  greatest  nuisance  this  town 
ever  knew,  and  is  the  only  man  in  these  parts  I  ever  had  a 
lawsuit  with  on  my  own  account;  and  with  him  I  have  had  at 
least  five  or  six.  The  first  was  near  thirty  years  ago,  soon  after 
I  sold  him  his  land,  when  he  tried  to  cheat  me  out  of  half  the 
purchase-money.  Then  we  had  another  dispute  afterwards 
about  boundaries,  and  then  another  about  fences,  and  then 
about  the  right  of  way  through  my  upper  lot  to  the  river ; 
and  here,  for  the  last  year  and  a  half,  he  has  been  threatening 
to  bring  a  new  suit  on  that  score,  though  at  the  last  trial  he 
had  not  a  peg  to  hang  his  case  on :  and  the  judge  said,  in 
his  charge  to  the  jury,  that  it  was  so  unjustifiable  a  suit,  that 
an  action  for  malicious  prosecution  would  doubtless  lie 
against  him ;  and  the  jury  found  against  him  without  leaving 
their  seats." 

"  Well,  you  are  not  the  only  man  that  has  been  worried 
by  him,"  said  Ebenezer ;  "  and  how  it  is  he  has  been  able  to 
keep  his  head  above  water  so  long,  and  pay  such  law  ex- 
penses, I  don't  understand." 

"  He  seems,"  said  Ben  Bradish,  an  old  sea-captain,  who 
had,  a  few  years  before,  finally  cast  his  anchor  in  Mont- 
gomery, and  was  living  at  his  ease  on  a  small  farm  half  a 
mile  from  the  village, — "he  seems  to  take  to  law  like  dolphins 
to  a  ship's  wake,  and  never  can  be  at  rest  in  smooth  water. 
He  likes  the  excitement  of  a  lawsuit,  as  a  petrel  likes  a  storm 
of  wind  and  thunder  and  lightning.  Whenever  I  find  he 
has  any  hand  in  any  thing  that  I  am  concerned  in,  I  always 
take  in  sail,  and  scud  under  bare  poles  for  other  waters." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  squire,  "he  is  not  here ;  and  let  us 
not  talk  of  folks  behind  their  backs.  He  will  probably  now 
leave  the  place ;  and  I  am  sure  I  would  sooner  do  him  a 
favor  than  an  injury." 

After  this  evil  report  in  regard  to  tenure  had  been  so  effect- 
ually killed  by  the  authoritative  dictum  of  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery, every  thing  in  the  village  seemed  to  move  along  with 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  113 

that  industrious  monotony  that  tells  of  peace  and  prosperity. 
Little  Diller,  now  getting  old,  and,  if  possible,  more  garrulous 
than  ever,  continued  to  surprise  his  guests  with  all  sorts  of 
irrelevant  gossip  ;  while  his  wife,  good  woman,  with  specta- 
cles askew,  entertained  them  with  the  good  cheer  that  had 
rendered  the  Eagle  famous  for  many  years.  Craig  and  Cook 
had  never  got  at  loggerheads  again  after  the  famous  case,  a 
full  account  of  which  was  given  in  the  earlier  parts  of  this 
history.  They  had  ever  since  been  as  regular  attendants  at 
church  as  Elder  Millson  himself;  and,  as  (so  Craig  once 
expressed  it)  they  were  both  of  a  "  musical  persuasion,"  they 
always  sang  from  the  same  hymn-book.  Thomas  Homer 
was  now  a  man  prematurely  broken  in  health  and  spirits. 
Rheumatism  had  impaired  the  one,  and  a  thankless,  graceless 
child  the  other.  Young  Obededom  Homer  was  never  amia- 
ble. He  was  quarrelsome,  selfish,  and  domineering  when  a 
child ;  and,  during  the  long  confinement  succeeding  the  acci- 
dent that  made  him  a  cripple  for  life,  his  bad  qualities  in- 
creased upon  him.  He  was  the  autocrat  of  the  house,  and 
received  every  attention  without  thanks  and  as  a  right. 
Even  the  attentions  of  Walter  Gomery,  in  searching  the 
fields  for  berries  or  in  bringing  him  his  toys  and  goodies, 
never  could  draw  from  him  an  expression  of  gratitude  :  on 
the  contrary,  he  would  inquire  what  new  presents  Theron 
and  Wirtimir  had  lately  had  given  to  them,  and  would  beg 
Walter  to  bring  them  to  him.  But  if  he  did  not  do  that, 
either  from  the  disinclination  of  his  brothers  to  part  with 
their  juvenile  riches,  or  from  an  idea  that  he  ought  not  to 
ask  others  to  make  sacrifices  for  so  ungrateful  an  invalid,  he 
was  sure  to  be  rated  and  abused  as  a  mean,  stingy  sneak. 
But,  as  Obededom  was  a  great  sufferer  from  his  wounded  leg, 
Walter  attributed  much  of  his  unkindncss  to  that  cause. 
This  unfortunate  limb  had  been  so  shattered,  that  fragments 
of  bone  continued  to  exfoliate,  and  work  through  the  flesh 
for  a  year  and  a  half  after  the  accident ;  and  the  pains  were 
constant,  and  often  excruciating.  Such  a  trial  would  doubt- 
less have  affected  for  the  worse  a  temper  less  morose  than 
Obededom's ;  but  him  it  made  as  savage  as  a  young  bear 
with  a  sore  head.  He  was  the  absolute  tyrant  of  the  house ; 
and  more  than  half  his  time  was  given  up  by  his  father  to 
attend  to  his  wants  and  caprices.  To  him  only  he  did  not 
snarl  and  snap ;  but  for  his  mother  and  sister  he  never  had  a 
10* 


114  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

gentle  word.  It  was  like  arrows  in  the  heart  of  Walter 
when  he  saw  the  kind  attentions  of  the  gentle  Hester  so 
rudely  repulsed,  that  she  would  shrink  away  to  hide  her  tears ; 
but  when,  as  Obededom  began  to  recover  from  his  wound, 
he  saw  that  his  sister  had  found  a  recipient  for  that  love 
which  he  had  always  rejected,  he  hated  Walter  with  all  the 
intenseness  of  his  vindictive,  selfish,  and  arrogant  nature. 
And  yet  the  loves  of  these  two  children  throve  and  strength- 
ened on  persecution.  They  loved  as  children ;  and  their 
dream  of  future  happiness  was  rather  of  some  place  where 
there  should  be  no  big  ugly  brother  to  torment  them,  than  of 
any  fancy  castle  or  isle  such  as  young  lovers  picture  to  them- 
selves. They  had,  as  children,  been  thrown  together  at  a  time 
when  the  childish  affections  of  Hester,  scorned  and  repulsed 
by  her  brother,  longed  for  recognition  and  sympathy.  The 
kindness  of  Walter  had  come  like  a  healing  balm ;  and  the 
tender  regard  he  evinced  for  her  as  a  neglected  child  had 
caused  her  to  turn  to  him  as  her  friend  and  protector.  Thus 
had  their  love  begun,  and  it  had  gone  on  increasing  with 
years.  It  contained  no  episodes  of  flirtings  and  jealousies, 
of  quarrels  and  reconciliations.  The  two  seemed  to  regard 
themselves  as  intended  for  each  other ;  and  their  interests  and 
lives  so  blended  together,  that  contention,  doubt,  or  distrust, 
were  impossible.  So  they  grew  up  children ;  and,  at  the  time 
to  which  this  history  has  arrived,  the  good  gossips  were  be- 
ginning to  speculate  on  the  time  when  the  marriage  of  Wal- 
ter Gomery  and  Hester  Homer  would  come  off. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  after  the  return  of  Gomery  and  his 
wife  that  Seth  Mettlar  again  appeared  in  town,  and  took  up 
his  lodgings  at  the  Eagle.  He  appeared  more  deeply  engaged 
than  before  in  searching  out  the  facts  in  regard  to  the  early 
annals  of  the  town,  and  in  gathering  materials  for  his  history. 
Though  Montgomery  was  the  largest  town  within  forty  miles, 
it  was  not  the  shire-town,  owing  to  its  being  situated  in  a 
corner  of  the  county.  The  shire-town  was  Chesterville, 
some  twenty  miles  to  the  north-east.  After  Seth  had  been 
a  few  days  in  the  village,  he  said  he  had  a  little  business  in 
Chesterville,  and  that  he  must  go  over  and  attend  to  it.  He 
accordingly  hired  Diller's  horse  and  wagon ;  and  giving  no- 
tice, that,  if  anybody  had  any  deeds  or  other  instruments  that 
they  would  like  to  have  recorded,  he  would  cheerfully  attend 
to  them,  he  set  out,  and  did  not  return  till  the  evening  of  the 
fourth  day  afterwards. 


A   FAMILY    HISTOKY.  115 

Nobody  knew  how  or  why  it  was,  but  everybody  felt  that 
the  presence  of  Seth  Mettlar  in  Montgomery  Village  boded 
no  good.  He  was  liberal  and  free  with  his  money,  however, 
and  endeavored  to  ingratiate  himself  into  the  favor  and  con- 
fidence of  the  people.  Though  he  had  bought  Silas  Barton's 
farm,  he  made  no  preparations  to  occupy  it,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, leased  it,  to  the  disgust  of  the  town  generally,  to  its 
former  owner,  for  the  term  of  three  years,  at  little  more  than 
a  nominal  rent. 

He  soon  left  the  place,  however ;  and  the  only  regret  people 
felt  was  that  he  had  ever  been  there.  But,  about  a  month 
after,  it  appeared  that  he  had  not  been  there  without  an  ob- 
ject. The  first  intimation  that  any  one  had  of  what  was  his 
real  purpose  was  contained  in  a  notice  to  the  adverse  party, 
which  the  deputy  sheriff  of  the  county  left  at  the  Pivot  one 
day  when  the  squire  was  away  from  home.  This  notice  in- 
formed him  that  an  action  had  been  commenced  for  trespass 
in  closing  up  the  road  leading  through  a  certain  lot ;  and  it 
appeared  this  was  to  be  a  new  trial  of  the  last  case  he  had 
had  with  Silas  Barton,  —  only  in  this  case  the  name  of  Seth 
Mettlar  appeared  as  plaintiff  instead  of  the  former  litigant. 
The  squire  was  annoyed  at  this ;  for  he  knew  it  would  cause 
much  trouble,  vexation,  and  expense  to  defend  his  rights, 
though  he  never  had  the  first  thought  or  suspicion  that  the 
result  would  not  be  the  same  as  in  the  last  trial  concerning 
the  same  asserted  right  of  way. 

But  more  rumors  of  unknown  origin  began  to  circulate  in 
town  ;  and  people  began  to  suspect  there  was  more  truth  in 
the  former  ones  than  the  squire  had  acknowledged  or  believed. 
These  all  soon  assumed  a  tangible  and  coherent  shape  when  a 
Boston  paper  found  its  way  to  Dille^'s  Tavern,  containing  a 
long  and  minute  account  of  an  important  discovery  that  had 
recently  been  made,  showing  that  the  title  to  the  land  on 
which  stood  one  of  the  most  thriving  villages  in  the  interior 
had  recently  been  discovered  to  be  in  a  person  supposed  to 
be  dead ;  that  it  had  been  purchased  by  a  most  respectable 
citizen  of  Boston,  a  member  of  the  bar ;  and  that  an  action 
had  already  been  commenced  that  would  involve  the  title  of 
most  of  the  town,  as  well  as  the  enormous  property  held  by 
the  person  who  had  not  only  defrauded  and  kept  the  rightful 
owner  out  of  his  own  for  many  years,  but  had  assumed  to 
sell  lands  of  great  value  to  which  he  had  no  title. 


116  .        GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY! 

This  statement  in  the  paper  was  so  minute  in  its  details, 
and  so  favorable  to  the  plaintiff  in  the  suit,  as  to  leave  no 
doubt  that  the  information  had  been  derived  from  him,  if  it 
had  not  been  written  by  his  own  hand.  But,  whether  that 
were  so  or  not,  Gomery  of  Montgomery  saw,  as  soon  as  he 
had  read  the  article,  that  he  would  have  an  antagonist  in  the 
suit  to  deal  with  very  different  and  much  more  formidable 
than  the  weak  and  querulous  Silas  Barton.  The  people  of 
the  village  rushed  to  see  him,  and  to  ask  what  it  all  meant. 
He  could  only  tell  them  that  he  was  as  much  in  the  dark  as 
they  were.  He  could  not  imagine  any  contingency  in  which 
their  titles  could  be  affected ;  and  assured  them,  if  there  ever 
had  been  any  laches,  that  it  had  been  from  no  fault  of  his, 
but  that,  for  his  part,  he  believed  it  was  an  attempt  to  extort 
black-mail,  or  was  a  part  of  some  other  scheme  to  get  money 
by  fraud.  In  this  uneasy  condition,  the  people  were  obliged 
to  wait  till  the  trial  came  on.  Efforts  were  made  to  learn 
what  the  plan  of  assault  was  to  be  by  some  of  the  tradesmen 
who  bought  their  goods  in  Boston,  and  who  made  it  their 
business  to  call  on  Seth,  and  question  him  about  his  lawsuit 
with  Gomery.  But  Seth,  like  a  prudent  general,  concealed 
his  plan  of  attack ;  and  the  people  were  left  to  surmise  on 
what  weak  point  of  Gomery's  title  he  would  make  his 
assault. 

The  case  would  come  on  for  trial  at  the  next  term  of  the 
District  Court ;  and,  until  then,  nothing  was  thought  of  or 
talked  of  in  Montgomery  but  the  great  lawsuit.  The  history 
of  this  village  seems  to  have  been  marked  by  great  events. 
First,  there  was  the  "  great  baby  ball,"  then  the  "  great  drunk," 
and  now  they  were  on  the  eve  of  a  "  great  lawsuit."  Gomery 
of  Montgomery  was  far  from  easy  in  his  mind  about  the 
result;  but  he  could  not  find  a  defect  or  flaw  in  his  own  title. 
The  original  deed  given  by  Col.  Scran  ton  to  his  father  more 
than  fifty  years  ago  was  in  his  possession,  and  nobody  had 
ever  questioned  its  form  or  validity ;  and,  even  if  it  had  been 
faulty  at  first,  long  use  had  made  complete  what  might  have 
been  originally  defective. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  117 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

"No  common  object  to  our  sight  displays, 
But  what  with  pleasure  Heaven  itself  surveys,  — 
A  brave  man  struggling  with  the  storm  of  Fate, 
And  greatly  falling  with  a  falling  State."— Pope. 

At  the  time  the  great  suit  of  Mettlar  versus  Gomery  was 
commenced,  it  had  been  many  years  since  the  old  squire 
had  appeared  in  court.  Even  in  cases  in  which  he  was  a 
party,  he  would  employ  some  younger  member  of  the  bar  to 
attend  to  them.  But,  in  this  instance,  he  had  a  misgiving 
that  it  was  too  important  to  trust  to  stranger  hands ;  and 
therefore  he  prepared  to  defend  the  case.  As  yet,  however, 
he  was  unaware  of  any  new  facts  or  evidence  that  the  present 
plaintiff  had  over  his  predecessor,  and  therefore  could  only 
appear  with  the  same  original  deed  from  Scranton  to  his 
father,  and  the  same  witnesses  that  had  testified  in  the  last 
suit,  when  Silas  Barton  was  plaintiff.  Armed  with  these,  he 
went  over  to  Chesterville  to  be  prepared  when  the  case 
should  come  on. 

Seth  was  there  before  him ;  and  he  had  brought  with  him 
one  of  the  most  eminent  Boston  lawyers,  whose  fee,  Squire 
Gomery  was  well  aware,  would  be  five  times  the  amount 
involved  in  this  suit.  It  was  evident  from  this  that  it  was 
to  be  only  a  test  suit,  and  that,  as  the  Boston  papers  had 
said,  the  question  of  title  to  his  whole  Montgomery  property 
was  to  be  tried. 

The  case  had  created  much  excitement,  and  great  interest 
was  felt  to  learn  the  issue ;  and  a  great  multitude  of  people 
had  gathered  in  Chesterville,  all  curious  and  eager  to  know 
the  result.  By  consent  of  counsel,  other  cases  on  the  dock- 
et, having  precedence  of  this  one,  were  passed  over;  and 
Mettlar  vs.  Gomery  came  on  for  trial  the  second  day  of  the 
term. 

The  court-room  was  crowded,  and  the  curiosity  of  the 


118  GOMEKY   OP   MONTGOMERY  : 

spectators  was  about  equally  divided  between  Gomery  and 
Mettlar.  The  appearance  of  the  former  was  imposing.  His 
form  was  yet  erect  as  ever,  though  his  hair  was  fast  turning 
gray;  and  his  more  intimate  acquaintances  thought  that  he 
did  not  have,  on  this  occasion,  that  cheerful,  contented, 
reliant  expression  of  countenance  that  he  was  wont  to  wear. 
But  he  had  nothing  of  the  nervous,  anxious,  twitching  look 
of  Seth  Mettlar,  who,  having  entered  before  Gomery,  seemed 
to  feel  confused  and  guilty  under  the  gaze  of  the  multitude. 
He  had  taken  his  seat  within  the  bar  by  the  side  of  his 
Boston  counsel,  and  was  trying  to  avoid  the  gaze  of  the 
crowd  by  turning  to  and  whispering  in  the  ear  of  his  com- 
panion. But,  when  the  tall  form  and  broad  shoulders  of 
Gomery  of  Montgomery  was  seen  making  its  way  through 
the  crowd  that  fell  back  for  him  to  approach,  all  eyes  were 
turned  to  him;  and  Seth  felt  a  sense  of  relief  that  they  were 
withdrawn  from  himself.  The  old  man  took  his  seat,  and 
cast  his  eyes  about  the  room;  then  he  looked  at  the  judge, 
—  a  man  as  old  as  himself, — with  whom  in  former  years,  and 
before  he  became  judge,  he  had  many  sharp  contests  in  that 
very  forum ;  all  of  which  had  left,  however,  in  the  mind  of 
each,  the  deepest  respect  for  the  other.  His  eyes  next  fell 
upon  the  Boston  lawyer,  —  Mr.  Dextrous,  —  of  whose  great 
success  as  an  advocate  and  pleader  he  had  heard  much, 
though  he  had  never  seen  him  before.  Then  his  eyes  fell 
upon  Seth,  who,  under  their  gaze,  could  no  longer  turn 
away ;  but  with  a  cringing,  guilty  look,  he  cast  such  a  piteous, 
abject  appeal  on  Gomery,  as  seemed  to  say,  "Don't  read 
aloud  my  villanies  to  the  people."  At  a  glance,  Gomery 
read  the  thoughts  of  his  antagonist,  and  saw  conscious  guilt 
in  his  every  look.  He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  him  for  about 
three  minutes,  as  if  reading  the  very  record  of  his  crimes; 
then,  with  a  smile  more  of  pity  than  of  scorn,  he  said  to 
himself,  though  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  several,  including 
Seth,  "The  fool!  Does  he  think  there  is  no  God  in  the 
earth  ?  "  At  this  moment  the  sheriff  called  out,  "  Silence  in 
the  court ! "  though  for  the  last  few  minutes  you  could  have 
heard  the  ticking  of  the  court-room  clock.  The  judge 
announced  the  business  for  the  day ;  and  the  clerk  read  the 
complaint  in  the  usual  sing-song  way,  so  that  no  one  under- 
stood from  the  reading  a  word  of  what  it  meant.  Gomery, 
however,  had  been  served  with  a  copy,  and  found  it  to  be 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  119 

an  exact  duplicate,  excepting  the  date  and  the  name  of  the 
plaintiff,  of  the  one  he  had  received  some  years  before,  when 
Silas  Barton  had  sought  redress  of  injuries.  Hence  he 
could  judge  nothing,  as  yet,  what  was  to  be  the  mode  of 
attack. 

Seth  had  employed  not  only  the  eminent  Mr.  Dextrous  of 
Boston  to  manage  his  case,  but  a  young  limb  of  the  law 
living  at  the  county  seat,  named  Farley,  had  also  been  en- 
gaged as  junior  counsel  to  open  the  case  and  do  the  office 
drudgery.  To  be  retained  as  counsel  with  so  eminent  a 
jurist  as  Mr.  Dextrous,  and  in  a  case  so  important  as  this, 
was  regarded  as  a  rare  honor  for  so  young  a  lawyer;  and  he 
had  prepared  himself,  with  the  assistance  of  Seth,  to  justify 
the  choice  of  his  patron.  He  began  by  paying  a  high  tribute 
of  respect  to  Gomery  of  Montgomery,  who  was,  as  all  ad- 
mitted, a  man  above  suspicion  or  reproach ;  a  man  who  had 
enjoyed  more  of  the  respect  and  confidence  of  the  county 
in  which  he  lived  than  any  man  who  had  ever  resided  in  it ; 
one  whose  integrity  and  benevolence  were  so  well  known, 
that  there  was  reason  to  fear  that  that  bulwark  of  justice, 
the  trial  by  jury,  was  sometimes  impotent  against  him.  His 
life  had  been  so  marked  by  honesty  and  fair-dealing,  that 
many  people  thought  all  who  differed  from  him  must  be 
in  the  wrong.  Yet  the  best  were  liable  to  err;  and  if  the 
evidence  should  show,  that,  in  this  case,  the  law  was  against 
this  man,  —  so  honored,  that  it  was  only  under  a  high  sense  of 
duty  that  he  appeared  as  counsel  against  him,  —  then  he  was 
convinced  that  a  jury  of  men  so  honest  and  respectable  as 
those  before  him  would  not  let  their  feelings  outweigh  their 
judgment,  but  would  give  a  verdict  in  accordance  with  their 
oath  to  respect  the  law  and  the  facts.  The  plaintiff,  though  less 
known  to  them,  was  a  no  less  worthy  citizen  than  the  defend- 
ant. To  understand  the  merits  of  his  case,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  revert  to  the  early  history  of  the  town,  and  to  examine 
into  the  original  titles  by  which  the  property  in  dispute  was 
held.  In  the  first  place,  it  would  appear  that  the  tract  of 
land -on  which  the  town  was  situate  had  been  granted  by  the 
Colonial  Government,  years  before  the  Revolutionary  War, 
to  Jotham  Scranton,  from  whom  it  was  inherited  by  his  son, 
Col.  Richard  Scranton,  who,  it  would  appear,  from  some  un- 
explained reason,  had  deeded  the  property  in  question  to  two 
parties.    Under  these  circumstances,  only  the  first  one  could 


120  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

be  valid,  unless  it  could  be  shown  th.it  the  former  one  had 
been  cancelled.  This  one,  which  was  made  in  favor  of  David 
Gault,  would  be  produced  in  court.  It  was  dated  in  the 
year  1773.  The  unfortunate  fate  of  David  Gault  was  too 
well  known  to  need  comment  or  explanation.  He  had  been 
murdered  during  the  war,  himself  and  family;  and  the  places 
that  once  knew  them  knew  them  no  more  forever.  It  was 
believed  for  a  long  time  that  not  one  of  the  family  had  escaped 
the  tomahawk  or  the  rifle.  Under  this  belief,  doubtless,  Col. 
Scranton  had  resold  the  same  property  to  Robert  Gomery,  the 
father  of  the  honored  and  respected  defendant  in  this  case. 

But  all  had  been  mistaken.  There  was  a  son  of  Gault, 
who  had  gone  on  a  visit  to  his  relatives  at  a  distance,  that 
had  not  perished  with  the  rest  of  the  family.  Unfortunately, 
when  grown  up,  he  had  taken  to  evil  courses ;  and  instead 
of  coming  forward,  and  claiming  the  property  that  his  father 
had  bought  and  improved  (the  deed  of  which  was  preserved  to 
him,  and  was  the  same  that  would  he  produced  in  court),  he 
had  run  away  to  sen,  and  led  the  life  of  a  roving  prodigal. 
But  a  life  of  dissipation  and  hardship  had  ruined  his  health  ; 
and  after  being  cast  on  foreign  shores,  and  living  for  years 
among  the  savages  of  the  Pacific  islands  (having  at  one 
time  given  up  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  his  native  country 
again),  he  at  length  returned,  a  miserable  old  man,  with 
scarce  a  dollar  in  his  pocket;  and,  a  poor,  sick,  helpless  object 
of  charity,  he  was  first  met  by  the  plaintiff  in  this  case.  He 
had  seen  the  poor  man  shivering  in  rags  in  the  streets  of 
Boston  ;  and  he  had  acted,  as  was  his  wont,  the  part  of  the 
Good  Samaritan.  He  clothed  him  in  decent  raiment,  and 
took  him  to  a  public-house ;  and  to  the  landlord  thereof  he 
gave,  not "  two  pence,"  but  two  dollars,  and  said, "  Whatsoever 
thou  spendest  more,  when  I  come  again  I  will  repay  thee." 
But  the  man  did  not  long  survive  ;  and,  feeling  his  death  to 
be  drawing  near,  he  sent  for  his  benefactor,  and  told  him  who 
he  was,  —  that  his  name  was  Randolph  Gault,  the  son  of 
David  Gault,  who  had,  with  the  rest  of  his  family,  except 
himself,  been  murdered  by  the  British  and  Indians  in  the 
time  of  the  Revolutionary  War.  To  corroborate  his  state- 
ment, the  sick  man  drew  from  under  his  pillow  a  small  pack- 
age, and  handed  it  to  the  defendant,  and  requested  him  to 
open  it.  He  did  so,  and  found  the  deed  which  we  shall  here 
present,  soiled,  yet  perfect  in  all  its  parts.    "  There,"  said  he, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  121 

"  is  all  I  have  got  in  this  world  to  repay  you  for  your  kind- 
ness. That  land  is  mine,  and  I  wish  to  leave  it  to  you. 
And  now,  as  I  feel  my  end  is  drawing  nigh,  I  want  you  to 
make  a  deed  of  it  to  yourself,  and  bring  it  to  me,  and  I  will 
sign  it." — "But," said  Mr. Mettlar,  the  defendant  in  this  case, 
"perhaps,  if  I  should  accept  your  grateful  offer,  I  might  do 
much  injury  to  innocent  persons.  This  deed  is  now  sixty 
years  old,  and  more ;  and  many  people  are  doubtless  on  the 
property;  and,  if  they  were  to  be  dispossessed,  it  would  cause 
much  suffering."  —  "  It  is  mine,"  said  the  dying  man.  "  The 
world  has  been  against  me  all  my  life  :  you  only  have  been 
kind  to  me.  Promise  me,  now,  to  claim  this  property,  and 
possess  and  enjoy  it."  Thus  adjured,  the  plaintiff  gave 
his  word ;  and  the  deed  was  prepared,  and  signed  by  the  sick 
man,  in  the  presence  of  two  competent  and  reliable  witness- 
es. The  next  day,  the  unfortunate  man  died ;  and  the  plain- 
tiff, in  bringing  this  action,  is  but  fulfilling  a  solemn  promise 
to  the  dead;  and  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  must  con- 
sider, that,  if  you  wrong  my  client,  you  wrong  the  dead  ;  and  if 
now,  after  so  long  a  delay,  justice  is  denied,  be  not  surprised 
if  to  you  return  the  ghosts  and  troubled  spirits  that  once 
haunted  the  vicinity  of  Gault's  Hill !  We  are  sorry  to  say  that 
one  of  the  witnesses  has  also  died.  Thus  we  have  the  deed 
of  Col.  Scranton  to  Gault  the  elder,  and  of  Gault  the  young- 
er to  the  plaintiff.  This  clearly  gives  the  original  title  ;  and 
the  next  question  is,  How  far  have  we  forfeited  it  by  non-use  ? 
To  complete  a  vicious,  defective,  or  fraudulent  title,  quiet 
and  undisputed  possession  for  twenty  years  is  required  by 
the  common  law.  We  shall  show  that  the  defendant  in  this 
action  has  never  passed  twenty  consecutive  years  without 
having  suits  in  which  his  title  was  questioned,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  assert  it.  The  small  piece  of  land  now  owned  by 
the  defendant,  near  the  village  of  Montgomery,  was,  as  will 
be  shown,  the  subject  of  a  lawsuit  some  forty  years  ago.  It 
changed  hands  by  being  first  mortgaged ;  and  then,  from  a 
technical  defect,  the  mortgage  did  not  hold ;  and,  when  the 
deed  of  Squire  Gomery  was  brought  forward,  he  will  himself 
recollect  how  it  was  questioned  and  disputed  as  not  being 
genuine,  and  he  was  called  upon  to  testify  to  its  authenticity. 
Then  there  was  another  suit  regarding  the  same  property 
some  twenty  years  or  more  ago,  in  which  the  question  of 
ownership  and  title  was  again  in  dispute:  and,  five  years 

VOL..  II*  11 


122  GOMERY    OP   MONTGOMERY! 

ago,  Silas  Barton,  then  in  possession  of  the  land,  brought  a 
suit  for  right  of  way  to  the  river;  being,  technically,  precise- 
ly similar  to  the  case  that  is  now  pending.  But,  as  we  claim 
never  to  have  been  divested  of  our  title,  we  stand  on  a  very 
different  footing  from  what  he  did.  If,  now,  we  can  show 
that  the  land  in  question  was  sold  to  Gault  sooner  than  to 
Gomery,  then  Gomery's  title  is  void ;  and  if  we  show  that 
we  have  a  good  and  perfect  deed  from  the  only  heir  of  Gault, 
and  that  twenty  years' unquestioned  possession  has  never  been 
enjoyed  by  the  Gomerys,  father  and  son,  then  our  case  is 
complete,  and  we  shall  expect  a  verdict  in  our  favor. 

When  Farley  had  concluded  his  opening  address,  indicat- 
ing the  course  that  the  plaintiff  would  pursue,  it  was  clear  to 
the  mind  of  Gomery  that  the  whole  proceeding  was  a  gigan- 
tic fraud.  He  did  not  believe  that  any  deed  given  by  Col. 
Scranton,  anterior  to  his,  was  in  existence ;  and,  if  there  was, 
he  did  not  believe  it  had  ever  come  honestly  into  the  hands 
of  Seth  Mettlar,  —  certainly  not  in  the  manner  indicated. 
He  knew,  long  ago,  that  the  survivor  of  the  Gault  Family 
was  none  other  than  Joe  Pumpagin  ;  and  that  Joe  ever  had 
such  a  deed  in  his  possession  he  knew  was  next  to  impossi- 
ble. But  even  if  he  had,  that  he  would  ever  assign  it  over 
to  so  transparent  a  hypocrite  as  Seth  Mettlar,  with  such  an 
injunction  as  had  been  conjured  up  in  justification  of  the 
proceeding,  was  utterly  without  the  bounds  of  belief.  The 
reader  will  remember  under  what  circumstances  the  secret 
of  Joe's  history  had  been  confided  to  Squire  Gomery.  It 
was  in  such  a  manner  that  it  could  be  no  evidence  in  court, 
even  were  he  at  liberty  to  use  it.  But  it  had  been  confided 
to  him  under  the  strictest  pledge  of  secrecy ;  and  he  was, 
therefore,  utterly  precluded  from  using  in  any  way  the  secret 
information.  By  breaking  faith  with  a  man  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  years,  and  probably  never  would  see  again,  he  could, 
very  likely,  preserve  his  estate ;  for  he  knew  very  well,  that, 
if  he  were  to  get  up  and  relate  the  story  of  Joe  Pumpagin, 
as  narrated  by  himself,  a  dozen  years  before,  one  afternoon,  at 
the  Pivot,  Seth  Mettlar  and  his  great  Boston  lawyer  would  be 
driven  ignominiously  from  the  court,  and  happy  would  Seth 
be  to  escape  from  the  town  without  rough  handling.  But  these 
considerations  did  not  weigh  a  feather  in  the  mind  of  Free- 
born Gomery.  He  was  a  man  without  a  conscience ;  or,  if 
he  had  one,  it  never  troubled  him.     Whatever  seemed  to 


A   FAMILY    HISTOPwY.  123 

him  to  be  right,  that  he  did,  without  hesitation  or  question. 
It  was  in  his  nature  to  do  so ;  and  hence  lie  had  no  need  of 
conscience  to  prick  him  to  a  sense  of  duty.  Joe  Pumpagin, 
therefore,  with  his  narrative,  was  accordingly  dismissed  from 
his  mind,  as  having  nothing  to  do  with  the  case.  He  must 
make  the  best  defence  he  could,  without  alluding  to  him  or 
his  story. 

The  deed  of  Scranton  to  Gault  was  first  put  in  as  evi- 
dence. It  was  handed  to  the  judge,  who  adjusted  his  spec- 
tacles, and  scrutinized  it  closely ;  then  it  was  passed  before 
the  jury,  and  came  back  to  the  clerk's  desk.  It  looked  old, 
worn,  and  greasy.  Gomery  reached  forward,  took  the  deed 
in  his  hands,  and  carefully  scrutinized  it.  Then  he  took  his 
own  deed,,  from  Scranton  to  his  father,  from  his  pocket,  and 
compared  them.  He  read  over  the  description,  or  bounda- 
ries, of  the  two,  and  found  them  the  same ;  looked  carefully  at 
the  signature ;  examined  the  paper  on  which  the  two  were 
written;  then  laid  them  both  on  the  table,  and  said,  "No 
proof  of  the  genuineness  of  the  deed  is  required :  it  is  ad- 
mitted." 

The  next  evidence  put  in  was  a  mass  of  affidavits  of  vari- 
ous persons  in  Gloucester,  testifying  to  the  fact  that  they  had 
once  known  the  son  of  David  Gault,  the  victim  of  Indian 
and  English  cruelty;  that  his  name  was  Randolph  Gault; 
and  two  of  them  testified  to  his  having  been  brought  to  the 
place  by  his  father  to  be  cured  of  a  serious  wound  he  had 
received  by  a  fall. 

"  That  David  Gault  left  a  son,  who  grew  up  to  manhood, 
is  also  admitted,"  said  Gomery,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be 
heard  all  over  the  court-room. 

The  admissions  of  Gomery  caused  great  consternation  in 
the  crowd.  Many  in  the  audience  held  all  they  owned  in 
the  world  under  a  title  derived  from  him ;  and,  if  his  own 
title  was  invalid,  then  what  could  theirs  be  good  for? 
"  What !  "  says  one,  "does  he  intend  to  surrender  us  to  that 
snake,  without  an  effort  ?  If  he  is  willing  to  give  up  his  own 
property,  he  might  have  some  regard  for  us,  who  have  paid 
him  for  our  land,  and  not  give  up  without  making  a  fight 
over  it." 

"  My  'pinion,"  said  Silas  Barton,  who  always  had  a  sore 
head,  and  was  snarling  and  fault-finding  at  every  breath  he 
drew,  —  "  my  'pinion  is,  that  it  is  all  a  made-up  thing  between 
Gomery  of  Montgomery  and  that  Boston  lawyer,  who  bought 


124  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

my  little  farm  for  a  hundreth  part  of  what  it  would  sell  for 
at  this  minute.  It's  all  got  up  'tween  the  two  to  cheat  hon- 
est folks  of  their  property."  —  "It  is,  is  it?"  hissed  a-  stal- 
wart old  man  standing  close  by,  as  he  turned  his  eye  on  the 
speaker.  "  That  is  my  answer  to  that,"  said  he,  as  he  dealt 
a  tremendous  blow  at  the  head  of  the  complaining  Barton, 
who  fell  like  a  dead  man  on  the  floor.  "  Silence  in  court!  " 
cried  the  judge. 

"  Silence  in  court !  "  vociferated  the  sheriff. 

The  order  was  obeyed  by  everybody  rising  up,  and  each 
asking  his  neighbor  what  it  all  meant.  The  prostrate  Bar- 
ton was  picked  up  and  carried  out,  and  was  followed  by  his 
assailant,  who  proved  to  be  none  other  than  Cook,  the  black- 
smith, whom  the  reader  may  remember  as  once  having 
brought  a  grievance  of  his  own  to  Lawyer  Gomery  for  ad- 
justment. 

He  was  an  older  and  a  wiser  man  than  then,  and,  I  think, 
a  better  one.  As  soon  as  they  were  fairly  out  in  the  open 
air,  he  said,  "Mr.  Barton,  it  was  I  that  knocked  you  down  ; 
and  I  will  do  it  again,  if  you  say  a  word  agin  Square  Gom- 
ery. You  are  the  second  man  I  ever  struck  in  all  my  life, 
and,  I  hope,  the  last.  I  profess  to  be  a  follower  of  Christ ; 
and  though  Gomery  of  Montgomery  is  not  of  my  faith,  and, 
I  believe,  is  in  a  fatal  error,  yet  he  is  as  honest  a  man  as  God 
ever  made  ;  and  anybody  that  slanders  him  is  a  villain  ! " 

Barton  only  replied,  that  the  law  would  settle  all  difference 
between  them ;  and  withdrew  to  bathe  his  eye,  now  fast 
changing  its  hue ;  while  Cook  and  the  others,  who,  for  the 
time,  had  been  diverted  from  the  main  business,  returned  to 
the  court-room. 

The  next  link  in  Seth's  chain  of  title  was  the  deed,  which 
he  alleged  he  had  received  from  Randolph  Gault  the  day  be- 
fore he  died.  This  instrument,  like  the  former  one,  was  sub- 
mitted to  the  judge,  and  then  to  the  jury.  Gomery  then 
took  it,  and  examined  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  saying,  loud 
enough  to  be  heard  by  all,  "That  is  a  forgery!  The  plain- 
tiff, in  this  case,  is  a  forger ;  and,  for  the  credit  of  the  pro- 
fession, I  am  sorry  to  see  that  any  respectable  lawyer  should 
lend  himself  to  a  work  so  nefarious,  so  atrociously  wicked, 
as  this  which  is  now  attempted."  This  outbreak  of  Gomery 
caused  a  sensation  in  court;  and  the  low  titter  of  applause 
that  run  through  the  crowd  clearly  indicated  that  the  public 
sentiment  was  very  strong  against  Mettlar. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  125 

The  Boston  lawyer,  who,  up  to  this  time,  had  not  opened 
his  lips,  here  rose,  and  said,  that,  with  the  permission  of  his 
honor  the  judge,  he  would  remark,  that  he  had  been  most 
fortunate  in  being  retained  as  counsel  in  this  case,  as  hither- 
to it  had  been  his  misfortune  to  practise  among  city  barba- 
rians ;  but  now  he  would  have  an  opportunity  to  learn  not 
only  law,  but  courtesy.  In  his  practice,  he  had  never  known 
counsel  to  prejudge  and  denounce  the  client  of  his  opponent 
as  infamous ;  nor  had  it  been  customary  to  exhibit  the  rare 
benevolence  of  giving  gratuitous  advice  to  other  members 
of  the  bar:  and,  though  it  might  seem  ungrateful  in  him  not 
to  heed  such  advice,  he  must  still  insist  in  defending  the  in- 
terest of  his  client;  and  he  was  greatly  mistaken  if  the  ver- 
dict of  that  intelligent  jury  did  not  administer  a  rebuke  to 
such  unjust  reflections  and  cruel  calumnies  as  had  been  in- 
dulged in  towards  his  client,  whom  he  loved  as  a  friend,  and 
honored  as  a  man. 

It  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  Gomery  knew  absolutely 
that  this  pretended  deed  was  a  forgery,  and  that  his  knowl- 
edge was  of  that  kind,  and  obtained  under  such  circum- 
stances, that  he  could  not  or  would  not  use  it ;  and  that, 
unless  Joe  Pumpagin  should  unexpectedly  turn  up  after  the 
manner  that  indispensable  men  are  wont  to  appear  in  plays 
and  novels,  he  would  find  it  imppssible  to  prove  the  fraud. 
He  was  convinced  that  Seth  Mettlar  was  not  a  man  to  en- 
gage in  such  a  scheme  without  being  very  sure  of  success. 
He  had  doubtless  prepared  his  way  too  well  to  be  caught 
tripping;  had  foreseen  the  weak  points  in  his  case,  and  pre- 
pared to  defend  them.  Unless  the  validity  of  this  deed 
could  be  impeached,  it  was  clear  that  the  law  would  be 
against  him.  He  therefore  called  upon  the  plaintiff  to  prove, 
first,  that  it  was  ever  signed  by  Randolph  Gault ;  and  that, 
if  it  was,  then  to  prove  his  identity  with  the  son  of  David 
Gault,  to  whom  the  land  had  first  been  deeded. 

In  proof  of  the  first  proposition,  several  newspapers  were 
put  in  as  evidence,  containing  paragraphs  alluding  to  the 
death  of  a  man  about  a  year  before,  named  Randolph  Gault; 
then  a  certificate  of  a  physician  who  attended  him,  and  of 
the  sexton  who  buried  him,  were  adduced ;  and  afterwards 
one  of  the  witnesses  who  signed  the  deed  came  forward,  and 
gave  his  evidence  of  what  he  knew  of  the  case. 
11* 


126  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

This  was  a  young  law-student  named  Trevitt,  who  proved 
to  be  a  swift  witness ;  and,  if  in  all  respects  his  testimony 
was  not  what  was  desired,  it  was  surely  from  no  fault  of  his 
trainer.  The  sagacious  Seth  had  foreseen  every  possible 
question  that  might  embarrass  a  witness  whose  story  had 
been  made  for  him,  and  he  had  provided  an  answer  accord- 
ingly. The  youth  was  sharp,  and  of  natural  ready  wit,  and 
had  been  wisely  selected  for  the  purpose.  To  secure  his  ser- 
vices, Seth  had  been  obliged  to  pay  him  a  hundred  dollars 
in  advance,  and  to  promise  a  thousand  more  when  a  verdict 
in  his  favor  was  given ;  and  five  hundred  dollars  a  year  for 
twenty  years  afterwards,  if  both  should  live  so  long.  His 
story  was  therefore  clear  and  consistent  throughout,  and 
was  to  the  effect  that  he  and  the  other  witness  to  the  deed 
were  both  students  in  the  law-office  of  Messrs.  Pike  &  Alli- 
born ;  when  one  day,  as  they  were  alone  pouring  over  Kent 
and  Chitty,  the  plaintiff  entered,  having  a  blank  deed  in  his 
hand,  and  told  them  he  wished  they  would  go  with  him  for 
an  hour,  and  witness  the  execution  of  it  in  another  part  of 
the  city.  He  had  a  carriage  waiting  at  the  door,  and  told 
them,  if  they  would  go,  they  could  be  back  in  half  an  hour ; 
and,  if  they  liked,  they  could  stop  and  get  some  oysters  on 
their  return.  As  it  was  near  the  close  of  the  day,  they  were 
pleased  with  the  diversion,  and  went  with  him.  They  were 
taken  to  a  part  of  the  town  where  the  witness  had  never 
been  before,  and  were  shown  into  a  poorly  furnished  room, 
in  which  was  a  low  bed.  On  this  was  lying  an  old  man,  ap- 
parently very  sick,  who,  as  soon  as  they  entered,  opened  his 
eyes  ;  and,  when  the  plaintiff  approached  the  bed,  he  clasped 
his  hand,  and  said,  "  Then  you  have  come  back :  you  wouldn't 
desert  the  old  man.  God  bless  you  in  time  and  eternity  for 
this!"  —  "This  is  the  poor  man,"  said  the  plaintiff,  "who 
wants  to  make  the  deed,  and  to  which  I  have  brought  you 
to  be  witnesses." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  his  name  ?  "   asked  Gomery. 

"  He  did  ;  or  rather  he  told  my  companion,  —  the  other 
young  man  who  asked  him  the  question.  And  he  told  us  a 
long  story  of  his  life.  Though  very  weak,  he  told  how  that 
he  was  born  in  the  forest ;  and  that,  when  he  was  a  small 
boy,  his  father  and  mother  were  both  murdered  by  the 
Indians,  at  a  time  when  he  was  away  living  with  an  aunt  of 
his  down  in  Gloucester.     Then  he  told  of  his  life  at  sea, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  127 

and  how  he  had  wandered  all  over  the  world,  being  detained 
on  one  of  the  islands  in  the  Pacific  Ocean  among  the  natives 
for  near  twenty  years,  but  that  he  had  always  kept  the  deed 
by  him  to  his  father's  property,  thinking  that,  some  time, 
he  would  come  and  claim  it.  He  arrived  in  Boston  without 
a  cent  of  money,  and  not  a  friend  in  the  whole  world  ;  and 
4  but  for  this  good  man,'  said  he,  taking  plaintiff's  hand,  '  I 
should  have  died  in  the  streets.  All  the  return  I  can  make 
to  him  is  to  make  over  to  him  this  deed.  Promise  me  again,' 
said  he,  'to  get  possession  of  it,  and  enjoy  it  if  possible.' 
The  plaintiff  begged  to  be  excused  ;  and  said,  that,  were  he 
to  do  so,  it  might  cause  great  injury  to  innocent  parties. 
'And  you  won't  do  it,  then?'  said  the  sick  man.  Then,  sink- 
ing back  in  his  bed,  he  lay  for  some  time  silent  and  ex- 
hausted. Soon  he  began  again  murmuring  to  himself,  '  Oh 
the  cruelty  of  man !  Years  have  I  hoped  to  return  and  claim 
my  own,  to  rescue  my  heritage  from  the  spoiler ;  but  none 
will  aid  me, — none.  I  must  die ;  and  my  curse  be  upon  ye!' 
'  I  accept  the  gift,  with  all  its  responsibilities,'  said  the  plain- 
tiff. 'I  promised  it  yesterday,  but  hoped  that  to-day  you 
would  relent,  and  leave  it  to  me  to  pursue  such  a  course  as 
might  seem  just  and  proper;  but  I  cannot  resist  a  dying 
man's  curse.  I  accept  the  gift;  but  on  you,  in  time  and 
eternity,  be  the  consequences ! '  — '  You  will  accept  it? '  said 
he,  rising  up  again,  and  clutching  the  plaintiff's  hand.  'I 
will,'  responded  Mr.  Mettlar. 

" '  And  drive  the  spoilers  off? * 

" '  Yes  :   I  have  promised  ? ' 

"'Will  leave  no  honest  means  untried  to  eject  them? 
will  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  recover  that  which  was  my 
father's,  and  ought  to-day  to  be  mine  ?     Swear  it,  then.' 

" '  I  swear  it,'  said  the  plaintiff. 

"'And  you  have  brought  the  deed?' 

'•' '  It  is  here.' 

"  The  man  looked  at  it,  and  then  said,  '  Do  you  on  your 
honor,  and  to  a  man  about  to  die,  and  appear  against  you, 
if  you  speak  falsely,  before  the  final  Judge, — do  you  say  that 
this  paper,  if  signed  by  me,  will  transfer  all  my  rights  in 
this  property  to  you  ? ' 

"'I  do.' 

" '  And  you  will  do  your  best  to  get  it  ? ' 

'"I  will.' 


128  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

" c  Then  give  me  a  pen.' 

"The  plaintiff  had  seen  the  necessity  of  pen  and  ink,  and 
had  brought  them  with  him  ;  and,  moving  up  the  table  that 
was  in  the  room  to  the  side  of  the  bed,  he  placed  the  open 
paper  upon  it,  and  handed  the  pen,  dipped  in  ink,  to  the  in- 
valid. He  could  hardly  hold  himself  up  to  write ;  but,  with 
my  assistance,  he  was  able  to  keep  himself  in  position  long 
enough  to  write  his  name,  Randolph  Gault,  as  you  see  it  on 
the  deed.  He  fell  back  on  the  bed,  and  did  not  speak  for 
some  time.  Then  he  asked  the  plaintiff  if  he  could  write 
something  on  the  back  of  the  deed. 

"  *  Certainly,'  said  Mr.  Mettlar :  '  whatever  you  like.  You 
can  revoke  it  all  if  you  desire  to  do  so.' 

"  <  Never ! '  said  he.     '  Give  me  the  pen ! ' 

"  He  was  again  raised  up ;  and,  taking  the  pen,  he  turned 
over  the  deed,  and  began  writing  on  the  back ;  but  he  had 
only  got  to  the  words,  '  I,  Randolph  Gault,  son  of  David 
Gault  who  was  murdered  by  the  Indians,  declare  and '  — 
when  the  pen  dropped  from  his  hands ;  and  he  fell  back  in  the 
bed,  and  did  not  recover  so  as  to  finish  the  sentence.  I  then 
signed  as  a  witness,  and  my  friend  as  a  notary ;  and  then 
the  plaintiff,  calling  in  the  woman  of  the  house,  gave  her  a 
ten-dollar  bill,  and  told  her  to  provide  every  comfort  for  the 
sick  man.  We  then  left,  the  plaintiff  promising  to  call  again 
in  the  morning.  The  next  morning,  I  went  again  to  see 
him,  in  company  with  Mr.  Mettlar ;  but  he  had  died  before 
we  got  there." 

"Who  was  this  other  witness  that  went  with  you?" 

"  His  name  was  Kinney." 

"You  say  he  was  a  law-student,  and  yet  a  notary-public?" 

"  He  was,  as  he  would  say  himself  if  he  were  alive,  or  as 
you  may  learn  by  applying  at  the  Secretary  of  State's  office. 
He  was  a  poor  young  man,  in  bad  health,  and  of  excellent 
character ;  and  his  friends  got  him  a  commission  as  notary 
before  he  was  admitted  to  the  bar.  He  had  all  the  notarial 
business  of  Messrs.  Pike  &  Allibone;  and,  with  this  and  the 
other  fees  from  the  office,  he  supported  himself  while  getting 
his  profession." 

"  Did  you  say  he  was  not  living  ?  " 

"He  is  not.     He  died  the  next  spring,  of  consumption." 

"And  this  signature  to  this  deed,  Henry  Kinney,  is  his?" 

"  I  saw  it  written  by  his  own  hand." 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  129 

The  comments  that  were  made  by  the  spectators  towards 
the  close  of  the  above  testimony  did  not  indicate  so  clearly 
as  did  the  surprise  and  astonishment  on  their  faces  their 
conviction  that  the  case  was  lost ;  that  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery, and  many  others,  were  inevitably  ruined.  Under 
the  feeling  of  depression  and  disappointment,  many  left  the 
court-room ;  and  some,  thinking  the  verdict  otherwise  than 
against  Gomery  impossible,  left  for  home. 

Trevitt's  testimony  was  concluded  after  a  brief  cross-ex- 
amination. 

"  What  sort  of  looking  man  was  this  one  that  signed  this 
deed  ?  "  asked  Gomery. 

"  He  was  so  emaciated  and  broken  by  sickness  and  ex- 
posure, I  could  judge  little  of  how  he  might  have  Jooked 
when  in  health.  I  can  only  recollect  one  peculiarity.  He 
had  a  flat  nose,  as  though  the  bridge  might  at  some  time 
have  been  broken." 

This  peculiarity  of  the  broken  nose  had  been  learned  by 
Seth  in  his  researches  at  Gloucester,  as  will  be  remembered 
in  the  narrative  of  the  landlord  of  the  Massasoit  when  re- 
lating the  mischievous  pranks  of  young  Dolph  in  his  youth- 
ful days,  especially  his  revenge  on  Parson  Dwight.  In  the 
affidavits  that  were  afterwards  obtained  by  Seth  from  the 
old  people  of  Gloucester,  this  peculiar  feature  was  described ; 
and  the  witness,  thus  instructed  on  that  member,  was  fully 
prepared  on  all  matters  of  description. 

During  the  examination  of  this  witness,  Seth  had  been  in 
such  a  state  of  anxiety,  that  he  could  scarcely  breathe.  The 
story,  all  made  up  from  beginning  to  end  by  himself  and  the 
youth,  hung  together  with  beautiful  consistency  in  all  its 
parts ;  but  if  by  any  chance  a  question  should  be  asked  for 
which  no  answer  had  been  foreseen  and  provided,  and  if 
the  witness  should  contradict  himself,  get  confused,  or  forget 
his  part,  then  he  saw  ruin  and  disgrace  before  him.  But  the 
youth  had  learned  his  lesson  well.  Seth  had  procured  a 
room  in  a  back  alley  in  Boston,  which,  a  year  before,  had 
been  occupied  by  a  dissipated  char-woman,  who  had  con- 
veniently died  in  season  to  be  out  of  the  way  as  a  witness. 
This  room  was  hired  by  Seth ;  and  to  it  he  and  his  witness 
resorted  frequently  to  rehearse  their  parts.  Every  question 
that  either  could  imagine  had  been  raised,  and  an  answer 
prepared  for  it,  so  as  to  involve  no  contradiction.     They  had 


130  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

even  gone  so  far  as  to  act  the  part  several  times,  Seth  taking 
the  character  of  the  sick  man.  The  position  of  the  house 
and  every  thing  in  it  were  carefully  noted;  so  that,  if  the  case 
were  obstinately  contested,  and  wicked,  unbelieving  eyes 
should  come  to  examine  the  premises,  no  discrepancy  or  con- 
tradiction should  be  found  in  the  evidence  to  be  given  at  the 
trial. 

It  had  never  been  the  way  with  Gomery,  when  a  younger 
man,  and  in  the  full  tide  of  practice,  to  attempt  to  confound 
and  confuse  adverse  witnesses.  He  never  sought,  by  cross- 
questions  and  ferocious  aspect,  to  bully  and  frighten  a  wit- 
ness with  a  damaging  story  to  tell,  so  that  he  could  not 
speak  the  truth  though  he  tried.  But  he  rather  encouraged 
them  to  go  on  and  tell  all  they  knew,  relying  on  his  own 
power  to  sift  it,  and  make  the  truth  clear  to  the  jury.  In 
this  case,  the  witness  Trevitt  had  told  his  story  clearly,  con- 
cisely, and  with  every  appearance  of  truth;  and  Gomery 
saw  by  his  manner,  that,  though  in  every  word  he  said  he 
was  deliberately  lying,  he  was  not  to  be  caught  in  a  contra- 
diction. That  the  plaintiff  had  made  out  a  case  that  must 
appear  unimpeachable  to  the  jury,  he  was  quite  well  aware; 
but  he  hoped  by  some  means  to  be  able  to  divide  the  jury, 
so  that  they  would  not  agree,  and  thus,  before  a  second  trial, 
get  time  to  go  to  Boston,  and  find  evidence  to  disprove  and 
break  down  Trevitt's  testimony.  This  would  be  a  great  point 
gained.  But,  whether  the  verdict  was  for  or  against  him,  he 
was  convinced  that  this  would  not  be  the  last  trial.  If  it 
were  for  him,  it  would  be  from  the  partiality  and  prejudice 
of  the  jury  in  his  favor;  but  if  against  him,  while  he  might 
yield  as  to  the  right  of  way  over  a  small  tract,  he  would 
contest  at  the  next  stage  of  the  proceedings  that  Seth  would 
be  compelled  to  take,  in  order  to  benefit  by  this  verdict. 
Thus  the  whole  case  would  be  re-opened,  and  then  he  would 
be  better  prepared  to  confound  the  swift  witness. 

From  the  nature  of  the  case,  Gomery  had  no  witnesses. 
His  own  deed  from  Col.  Scranton,  and  the  continuous  pos- 
session, constituted  his  case ;  and  the  evidence  brought  for- 
ward by  Seth  of  an  earlier  and  better  title  was  such,  that  he 
could  offer  nothing  to  weaken  or  destroy  it.  When  the 
plaintiff  had  concluded  his  evidence,  therefore,  he  arose,  and 
said  that  it  would  matter  little,  probably,  what  the  verdict 
in  this  case  might  be,  as  it  was  only  a  suit  preliminary  to  a 


A   FAMILY    HISTOBY.  131 

long  course  of  litigation.  Not  knowing  the  grounds  on 
which  the  plaintiff  had  stood,  he  had  not  been  able  to  pre- 
pare for  the  case  as  he  would  do  in  a  subsequent  trial,  and 
might  have  asked  for  postponement  on  the  ground  of  sur- 
prise. But  he  preferred  that  the  plaintiff  should  now  dis- 
close his  evidences  and  titles,  so  that  at  another  time  he 
would  be  prepared  for  him.  "  But  there  is  one  thing,"  said 
he,  "that  I  wish  to  say  to  the  jury ;  and  that  is,  that  I  know, 
absolutely,  of  my  own  knowledge,  that  this  whole  affair  is, 
on  the  part  of  the  plaintiff,  Seth  Mettlar,  and  his  paid  wit- 
ness, Henry  Trevitt,  a  monstrous,  abominable,  deliberate 
fraud  and  conspiracy;  that  the  deed  purporting  to  be 
signed  by  Randolph  Gault  is  a  forgery;  that  the  whole 
story,  as  given  in  evidence,  of  the  sick  man,  the  signing  of 
the  deed,  the  dying  injunction,  is  nothing  but  a  series  of 
concocted  lies." 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  Mr.  Dextrous,  who  claimed 
the  protection  of  the  court  for  his  client,  as  the  speaker  was 
not  a  witness,  and  not  sworn,  and  had  no  right  to  give  his 
own  evidence  or  allege  his  own  prejudices  as  facts. 

"  That  is  all  I  have  to  say  on  that  score,"  replied  Gomery. 
"That  I  have  said,  and  it  will  stand.  The  jury  have  heard 
it ;  and  the  most  if  not  all  of  them  know  something  of  the 
character  of  Freeborn  Gomery,  better  known  to  them,  per- 
haps, as  Gomery  of  Montgomery.  They  know  that  what  I 
state  to  be  true  is  true;  and  that  nothing  can  strengthen, 
nothing  can  weaken,  a  statement  made  by  me.  I  have  said 
what  I  know  to  be  a  faet ;  and  it  is  for  the  jury  to  deny  it  if 
they  can.  I  give  no  clew  to  my  reasons  for  the  positive 
assertions  I  have  made ;  I  offer  no  explanations :  I  have  only 
said  that  I  know  of  a  certainty,  and  beyond  a  shadow  of 
doubt,  what  I  have  charged  against  the  plaintiff  and  his 
fellow-conspirators." 

The  argument  of  Mr.  Dextrous  was  long  and  artful.  He 
had  carefully  observed  the  jury  during  the  trial,  and  had 
seen  that  their  sympathy  was  entirely  with  the  defendant. 
Therefore  he  could  gain  nothing  by  abusing  him:  on  the 
contrary,  he  must  chime  in  with  their  prejudices,  and  praise 
him.  He  did  this  so  cunningly,  that  a  stranger,  unacquainted 
with  the  facts,  would  have  thought  that  he  was  retained  by 
the  defendant  to  defend  and  eulogize  him.  And  first  he 
justified  himself  in  appearing  against  a  man  so  universally 


132  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

respected.  At  first,  he  had  been  retained  before  he  knew  the 
merits  of  the  case ;  and  when  he  began  to  examine  it,  and 
found  it  was  a  suit  involving  the  interests  not  only  of  a 
man  loved  and  respected  far  above  what  it  was  the  lot  of 
most  men  to  enjoy,  but  also,  through  him,  seriously  affecting 
a  large  community,  his  first  impulse  was  to  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  it,  but  tell  his  client  to  look  elsewhere  for 
an  advocate.  But  he  looked  farther,  and  found  that  there 
were  two  sides  to  the  case ;  that,  as  would  sometimes  hap- 
pen in  this  world  of  crosses,  the  interests  of  deserving  par- 
ties conflicted  and  clashed:  one  or  the  other,  from  no  fault 
of  his  own,  must  suffer  wrong ;  and,  in  such  a  case,  there 
were  but  two  ways  to  arrange  the  difficulty;  one  was  by  a 
compromise,  and  the  other  by  the  Procrustean  rule  of  the 
law.  The  first  had  been  refused  with  scorn  and  contumely 
by  the  defendant;  and  hence  the  plaintiff  had  no  resort  but 
to  those  courts  that  deal  justice  to  all  alike,  respecting  not 
persons  nor  prejudices.  But  this  was  not  a  case  of  a  grasp- 
ing, unjust  man  against  one  honored  and  just,  like  the  de- 
fendant. His  client  was  no  less  honored  and  respected 
among  his  own  people  than  the  defendant  among  his.  He 
was  a  man,  as  the  evidence  had  shown,  of  the  finest  sense  of 
honor;  of  most  sublime  rectitude;  of  a  conscience  sensitive 
to  the  call  of  duty  as  the  needle  to  the  magnet.  But  of  that 
hereafter.  The  first  thing  was  to  consider  the  case  in  its 
legal  aspect ;  and  as  it  was  written  in  the  law,  so  must  the 
jury  give  their  verdict. 

The  evidence  adduced  by  his  client  in  support  of  his  case 
was  then  reviewed  by  Mr.  Dextrous  at  great  length.  The 
chain  of  title  was  traced  from  its  original  source, — the  grant 
by  Government  to  old  Jotham  Scranton  ;  from  whom  it  de- 
scended to  his  son,  and  was  by  him  sold  to  Thomas  Gault, 
whose  only  surviving  heir  was  Randolph  Gault,  whose  deed 
to  the  plaintiff  was  now  in  court.  The  law  in  regard  to 
undisputed  possession  for  the  term  of  twenty  years  was  then 
recited,  and  the  records  of  all  the  suits,  that,  from  the  first, 
the  defendant  had  had  with  Silas  Barton  and  other  people : 
and  it  was  clearly  shown  that  that  term  had  never  passed 
without  the  question  of  title  to  the  Gomery  Estate  being 
raised ;  not  with  a  view  to  contest  it,  —  for  its  validity  had 
never  been  doubted  before,  —  but  it  had  come  up  incidentally, 
as  one  of  the  points  formerly  raised  in  those  suits  where  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  133 

question  of  title  was  concerned.  This  point  was  made  so 
clear,  it  was  evident,  that,  if  Gomery's  case  depended  on 
the  possession,  he  must  inevitably  lose  it.  Dextrous  saw  in 
the  eye  of  the  only  juryman  he  feared,  that,  on  that  point,  he 
was  convinced.  He  had  observed  one  man  in  the  .jury-box 
that  all  his  soft  words  in  praise  of  Gomery  had  not  moved. 
He  saw,  early  in  the  trial,  that  this  man  was  strongly  preju- 
diced against  his  client ;  that  he  smiled  and  scowled  accord- 
ing as  the  evidence  was  favorable  or  adverse  to  Gomery. 
His  general  appearance,  during  the  time  that  the  evidence 
was  being  given,  had  been  anxious  and  attentive.  The  ac- 
cumulating evidence,  going  to  show,  that,  in  all  probability, 
the  title  to  the  Gomery  Estate  was  legally  and .  technically 
in  the  plaintiff,  disturbed  him  greatly ;  and  Dextrous  watched 
the  workings  of  his  countenance  with  great  curiosity,  and  no 
little  satisfaction,  as  he  read  in  his  face  the  honest  man's 
regrets  that  the  painful  duty  would  devolve  on  him  of  ren- 
dering a  verdict  so  contrary  to  his  feelings. 

But,  when  Gomery  got  up  to  address  the  jury,  the  anxiety 
in  the  face  of  this  man  was  more  distinctly  visible  than  is 
often  seen  in  that  of  a  criminal  when  waiting  a  verdict  that 
must  either  bid  him  go  free,  or  send  him  to  the  gallows. 
And  never  did  the  words  "  Not  guilty,"  from  the  foreman  of 
a  jury,  light  up  the  countenance  of  a  prisoner  in  the  box 
more  suddenly  than  did  the  deliberate  declaration  of  Gom- 
ery, that,  on  his  own  knowledge,  the  whole  case  of  the 
plaintiff  was  based  on  forgery  and  fraud,  change  the  aspect 
of  this  concerned  juryman.  Dextrous  had  observed  the 
effect  of  this  declaration,  and  read  at  once  that  it  would 
take  a  large  amount  of  sworn  testimony  to  rebut,  in  that 
man's  mind,  the  naked  word  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery. 

The  other  jurymen  had  all,  at  the  commencement  of  the 
trial,  evinced  more  or  less  the  same  prejudice  in  favor  of 
the  defendant  as  this  one.  But  Dextrous  had  read  their 
thoughts  so  well  as  to  see  that  prejudice  had  given  way  be- 
fore tact  and  evidence ;  and  it  was  only  the  stubborn  will 
and  striking  individuality  of  the  large  man  with  rough  fea- 
tures, who  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  jury-box,  that  he  feared. 

This  man  we  have  met  before,  —  many,  many  years  ago. 
In  selecting  a  jury,  objection  had  been  made  to  every  one 
drawn  from  the  town  of  Montgomery,  on  the  ground  of  either 
interest  or  prejudice ;  but,  with  all  his  acuteness,  Mr.  Dex- 

VOL.  II.  12 


134  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

trous  had  not  thought  to  question  jurors  from  other  towns, 
further  than  to  ask  if  they  had  any  interest,  direct  or  indi- 
rect, in  the  suit.  He  did  not  ask  any  one,  if,  in  his  mind, 
the  bare  assertion  of  Freeborn  Gomery  would  outweigh  the 
sworn  evidence  of  a  host  of  other  witnesses ;  and  this  was 
the  only  question  that  would  have  reached  the  case. 

The  man  thus  interested  in  behalf  of  Gomery  was  Joel 
Slocum,  whom  the  reader  may  remember  as  having  been 
married  on  the  day  of  the  "  great  baby  ball,"  and  taken  part 
in  the  festivities  that  occurred  on  that  memorable  occasion. 
Twenty-five  years  and  more  have  passed  since  then;  and 
instead  of  the  raw,  awkward  youth  of  his  wedding-day,  he 
is  a  self-reliant,  obstinate,  well-to-do  man.  He  is  known  as 
a  man  of  strong  sense,  but  terribly  set  in  his  opinions  ;  and, 
though  people  admit  that  his  opinions  in  the  end  prove 
right,  they  think  he  should  be  less  stubborn  in  adhering  to 
them.  But,  for  all  that,  they  have  imperceptibly  learned  to 
appreciate  the  fact,  that  he  only  comes  to  a  conclusion  after 
a  thorough  examination  and  consideration  of  the  matter  in 
hand ;  and  that  conclusion  they  respect. 

At  the  time  of  his  marriage  to  sweet  Kitty  Floyd,  Joel 
Slocum  was  far  less  strict  in  religious  observances  than 
he  afterwards  became.  Had  he  not  been  so,  he  had  never 
consented  to  attend  the  "  great  baby  ball."  He  had  been 
brought  up,  as  was  related  long  ago,  in  the  Calvinistic  faith ; 
and,  at  that  time,  was,  in  theory,  as  good  a  Calvinist  as 
afterwards.  But  it  was  two  years  after  this  when  he  made 
an  open  profession,  and  submitted  to  all  the  requirements 
and  restrictions  that  were  self-imposed  by  the  earnest,  hon- 
est, respectable,  but  contracted  and  slightly  bigoted  mem- 
bers who  dictated  that  creed,  and  the  worldly  limitations 
essential  to  salvation.  But,  whatever  his  religious  experi- 
ences, he  had  never  ceased,  from  the  day  of  his  marriage  with 
Kitty  Floyd,  to  regard  Gomery  of  Montgomery  as  the  man, 
above  all  others  of  his  acquaintances,  to  be  honored  and  ad- 
mired. In  respect  and  reverence  for  Gomery  and  his  wife,  he 
and  his  wife  entirely  concurred.  The  affairs  of  their  marriage, 
and  the  incident  of  the  "  great  baby  ball,"  were  standing  topics 
of  conversation  all  their  lives.  No  English  commoner,  who 
had  been  kicked  by  a  lord,  was  ever  more  proud  of  the  indig- 
nity than  he  was  of  the  courtesy  and  good-nature  of  Gomery 
and  his  wife  at  the  time  of  his  marriage.    And  he  had  kept 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  135 

up  his  acquaintance  ever  since ;  and,  if  it  ever  chancer!  that 
Mrs.  Gomery  came  to  Tivernet,  she  did  not  fail  to  call  on 
her  whom  she  never  ceased  to  call  "  sweet  Kitty  Floyd." 
Some  of  his  church-brethren,  when  they  heard  Joel  enlar- 
ging so  freely  on  the  virtues  and  merits  of  Gomery  as  the 
perfect  man,  would  question  his  judgment,  since,  by  his 
own  confession,  this  modern  Job  was  far  from  the  true  faith. 
Joel  never  attempted  to  reconcile  these  discrepancies,  but 
said  the  Lord  had  his  own  way  of  effecting  his  purposes,  and 
would  make  it  all  right  in  his  own  good  time.  He  had  also 
another  reply,  that  was  more  effectual  in  silencing  criticism. 
He  would  cite  the  case  of  Craig  vs.  Cook,  both  of  whom  were 
shining  lights  of  his  own  church,  and  say, "  Who  is  my 
neighbor  ?  "  That  silenced  his  accusers  ;  for  they  could  not 
deny  that  the  unbelieving  Samaritan  was  a  better  Christian 
than  either  the  priest  or  the  Levite. 

The  Boston  advocate  read  the  nature  of  this  man,  and  saw 
that  he  had  not  made  out  his  case  so  as  to  convince  him,  long 
after  it  was  evident  that  all  the  rest  had  made  up  their 
minds.  His  attention  was  as  fixed  as  ever;  and  the  keen 
observer  saw,  that,  on  the  question  of  continuous  possession, 
even  he  was  convinced.  He  did  not  leave  that  part  of  his 
argument,  however,  for  that  reason  :  on  the  contrary,  he 
amplified  the  more  upon  it.  He  assumed  that  that  was  the 
only  point  on  which  there  could  be  any  doubt;  and  by 
dwelling  long  upon  it,  eloquently  piling  up  the  evidence  and 
the  law,  he  thought  to  divert  the  mind  of  this  obstinate 
juryman  from  any  other  difficulties  in  the  case  on  which  he 
might  be  laboring.  And  with  an  eloquent  peroration, 
assuming  this  as  the  only  point  for  the  jury  to  pass  on,  and 
with  a  glowing  tribute  to  jurors  generally,  and  this  one  in 
particular,  whose  honest,  intelligent  faces  showed  they  could 
never  be  swayed  by  cunning  or  prejudice,  he  confidently 
intrusted  the  case  to  their  hands. 

The  charge  of  the  judge  was,  however,  more  formidable 
in  the  mind  of  Joel  Slocum  than  any  thing  advanced  by  the 
oily  tongue  of  Mr.  Dextrous.  He  told  the  jury  they  must 
decide  according  to  the  law  and  the  evidence ;  and,  in  com- 
ing to  a  conclusion,  they  should  carefully  sift  that  which  was 
legal  and  pertinent  from  their  vague  impressions  and  private 
belief.  It  was  an  important  case,  —  the  most  important  ever 
tried  in  that  county ;  and  the  interests  of  many  people  were 


136  GOMERY   OP  MONTGOMERY: 

liable  to  be  affected  by  their  verdict.  Hence  they  had 
reason  to  guard  especially  against  personal  prejudice  or  per- 
sonal sympathy.  Evidence  unimpeached,  and  standing  to 
reason,  was  to  have  due  weight ;  and  all  other  was  to  be, 
so  far  as  possible,  dismissed  from  their  minds.  Then  review- 
ing in  detail  the  evidence  offered,  and  reciting  the  law  bear- 
ing upon  it,  he  bade  the  jury  retire,  and  consult  on  their 
verdict. 

The  jury  were  conducted  to  the  jury-room,  and  then  left 
to  themselves.  The  judge,  the  jury,  the  lawyers,  and  specta- 
tors generally,  believed  that  they  would  soon  return.  Not 
so,  however,  Mr.  Dextrous :  he  feared  the  stubborn  will  of 
one  man,  and  was  convinced  that  it  would  require  all  the 
influence  and  persuasion  of  his  fellow-jurors  to  bring  him  to 
assent  to  their  verdict.  The  time  passed  away, —  half  an 
hour,  three-quarters.  It  was  getting  to  be  dark,  and  the 
judge  wanted  his  supper.  He  ordered  the  court  to  be  ad- 
journed for  two  hours;  remarking  sotto  voce,  that,  if  a  jury 
could  hesitate  in  a  case  so  clear  as  this,  they  deserved  to  be 
locked  up  till  they  agreed,  and  an  hour  afterwards,  as  a  pun- 
ishment. 

Two  hours  afterwards,  the  court  was  re-opened ;  but,  as 
yet,  the  jury  had  made  no  sign.  The  judge  ordered  the 
sheriff  to  inquire  if  there  was  no  prospect  of  their  agreeing 
that  night.  The  answer  was,  that  they  wanted  further  in- 
structions; and  the  whole  body  were  marched  back  into  their 
box. 

The  foreman  stood  up,  and  said,  "  The  jury,  your  honor, 
have  all  been  agreed  from  the  start,  except  one  man.-  He 
persists  in  regarding  the  statement  of  the  defendant  as  evi- 
dence ;  and  the  instructions  now  asked  for  are  not  to  convince 
us,  but  him,  that  we  are  not  to  regard  it  as  testimony." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  judge,  "does  any  person  here 
consider  that  the  unsworn  statement  of  the  party  in  the  suit 
can  weigh  against  the  positive,  direct  sworn  evidence  of  un- 
impeached witnesses  ?  It  is  absurd  and  preposterous !  Such 
evidence  is  no  evidence  at  all.  It  is  to  be  dismissed  from 
your  minds  as  irrelevant;  and  your  duty  as  honest  men  is  to 
weigh  the  evidence,  and  decide  as  if  you  knew  nothing  what- 
ever of  the  suit,  or  the  parties  to  it,  except  what  you  have 
heard  in  court." 

The  jury  again  retired :  but  it  would  seem  that  the  obsti- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  137 

nate  juror  was  still  unconvinced  ;  for  they  did  not  soon  return, 
as  was  expected.  After  waiting  half  an  hour  longer,  word 
was  sent  that  they  had  not  agreed,  and  there  was  no  proba- 
bility that  they  ever  would. 

"  Let  them  come  in,  then,"  said  the  judge. 

They  again  defiled  into  their  box  ;  and  the  foreman,  stand- 
ing up,  said,  "  Owing  to  the  obstinacy  of  one  man,  there  is  no 
prospect  of  agreeing  on  a  verdict." 

"It  is  no  obstinacy  on  my  part," said  Joel,  interrupting  the 
foreman:  "it  is  the  obstinacy  of  the  other  'leven.  They  all 
admit  that  they  would  sooner  take  the  word  of  Square  Gom- 
ery  than  the  sworn  testimony  of  every  other  man  in  the 
house,  including  your  honor;  and  yet  the  stubborn  fools  re- 
fuse to  give  him  a  verdict." 

"  But  you  have  no  evidence  of  that  kind  that  you  can 
entertain.  His  word  is  not  legal  evidence.  You  have  no 
right,  according  to  your  oath  to  respect  the  law,  to  give  any 
heed  to  any  thing  so  spoken." 

"  But  he  said  that  the  whole  case  of  the  plaintiff  was  a 
forgery  and  fraud,  and  that  he  knew  it  to  be  so  of  his  own 
knowledge;  and  what  he  says  I  know  is  true,  your  honor 
knows  it  to  be  true,  all  my  fellow-jurymen  know  it  to  be 
true ;  and  they  have  no  more  doubt  than  I  have  that  this 
plaintiff  is  a  great  scoundrel,  and  has  got  up  the  case  to  rob  the 
defendant  of  his  property.  We  all  know  this  to  be  the  truth 
of  the  case ;  and,  sooner  than  give  a  verdict  in  favor  of  a  fraud 
and  forgery,  I  will  be  roasted  like  John  Rogers. 

At  this  outburst  of  nature,  the  judge  could  not  forbear  a 
smile  ;  the  foreman,  and  the  rest  of  the  jury,  looked  abashed 
and  guilty ;  and  there  was  a  movement  among  the  spectators 
which  showed  that  they  sympathized  with  the  rebellious  juror. 
The  testimony  to  Gomery  that  had  thus  unwittingly  been 
drawn  from  the  lips  of  the  honest  Joel  could  not  but  cause  a 
smile  to  overspread  his  face,  that  showed  an  inward  satisfac- 
tion scarcely  less  than  he  would  have  felt  could  he  have  seen 
Joe  Pumpagin  at  that  moment  enter  the  court-room.  He 
could  see  that  all  present,  save  only  Seth  Mettlar,  his  lawyers, 
and  his  witness,  fully  concurred  in  the  testimony  that  had 
been  wrung  from  Joel  Slocum ;  and  the  question  before  the 
court,  the  lawsuit,  sunk  into  insignificance  in  his  eyes. 

The  judge  could  not  expect  a  verdict  from  this  jury  after 
such  an  exhibition  of  contumacy  as  he  had  witnessed;  and 
12* 


138  GOMEEY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

after  giving  Joel  a  brief  lecture  on  the  impropriety  of  carry- 
ing his  prejudices  and  stubbornness  into  the  jury-box,  and 
warning  him  that  he  had  already  exposed  himself  to  severe 
punishment  for  contempt  of  court,  he  dismissed  the  jury ;  and 
the  case  went  over  to  the  next  term,  to  be  tried  again  in  its 
course. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  139 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"For  most  men,  till  by  losing  rendered  sager, 
Will  back  their  own  opinion  with  a  wager." — BYRON. 

At  the  first  trial,  Mettlar  was  obliged  to  show  his  hand ; 
and  this  gave  Gomery  opportunity  to  prepare  his  defence  at 
the  next  one.  He  accordingly  went  to  Boston  to  look  up 
evidence,  and  to  find  counsel  able  to  compete  with  the  subtle 
Mr.  Dextrous.  He  was  determined  not  to  appear  himself  a 
second  time  in  the  case,  but  to  intrust  the  whole  matter  to  a 
younger  man,  and  one  who  was  more  familiar  with  the  sharp 
practice  of  practical  sharpers.  He  gave  a  thousand-dollar 
retainer-fee  to  Messrs.  Myrick  &  Chauncey,  reputed  to  be 
the  equals  of  any  at  the  bar  for  "tough  cases;"  and  having 
narrated  at  great  length  the  history  of  the  first  trial,  and 
recapitulated  the  points  of  Trevitt's  testimony,  he  left  the 
case  in  their  hands,  and  returned  to  his  home  at  the  Pivot. 

Myrick  and  Chauncey  set  to  work  at  once  to  hunt  up  the 
evidence  that  should  confound  Trevitt.  They  set  detective 
police  to  inquire  all  about  the  house  where  it  was  alleged 
Randolph  Gault  had  ended  his  days,  and  also  to  learn  the 
particulars  in  regard  to  the  other  witness  to  the  deed,  before 
whom  it  was  acknowledged,  and  who  had  since  died.  But 
they  could  not  find  a  flaw  in  Seth  Mettlar's  chain  of  evidence : 
on  the  contrary,  they  found  several  things  to  corroborate  his 
version  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had  obtained  the  deed 
from  Randolph  Gault.  The  house  where  the  man  had  last 
lived,  and  finally  died,  was  just  as  had  been  described;  and 
numerous  people  in  the  neighborhood  remembered  a  poor* 
broken  old  man,  that  had  lived  there  a  year  before,  and  had 
died,  and  been  buried  from  that  house.  The  woman  who 
kept  the  house  was  no  longer  there ;  and,  if  the  whole  affair 
was  a  fraud  and  a  conspiracy,  it  was  certainly  so  cleverly 
managed,  that  it  would  be  hard  to  detect  it.    So  wrote  Myrick 


140  GOMEEY    OP    MONTGOMERY: 

&  Chauncey  to  their  client;  but  he  only  answered  them, 
that,  as  it  was  a  plot  to  rob  him,  he  would  contest  it,  through 
one  court  after  another,  till  it  was  impossible  to  do  so  any 
longer. 

Of  the  result  of  all  these  trials  the  reader  has  already  been 
informed  by  good  Deacon  Giles,  in  his  vindication  of  Brother 
Mettlar  against  the  aspersions  of  Joe  Pumpagin  in  the  Boston 
City  Tavern.  The  case  was  carried  from  one  court  to 
another,  being  contested  at  every  step  by  Gomery,  with  a 
pertinacity,  that,  even  to  his  friends,  seemed  headstrong  and 
absurd.  In  the  course  of  the  various  trials,  one  fact  had  come 
out  that  was  a  great  relief  to  many  of  the  residents  of  Mont- 
gomery Village.  Those  who  had  bought  their  land  from  the 
elder  Gomery,  or  from  the  younger,  long  enough  before  this 
trial  came  on  to  have  had  the  twenty  years'  unquestioned 
possession,  could  not  be  affected  by  the  result  of  this  case. 
Even  though  Gomery  had  no  right  to  sell  the  land  which 
they  ignorantly  purchased  from  him,  yet,  having  held  it 
twenty  years  without  molestation,  their  title  was  complete ; 
while  his  to  that  which  he  still  claimed,  having  been  disputed, 
or  called  in  question,  during  each  twenty  years,  still  depended 
on  the  final  judgment  in  the  "great  lawsuit."  Thus  as  it 
came  about  that  more  than  three-fourths  of  the  people  of 
Montgomery  were  not  to  be  disturbed,  even  though  Gomery 
of  Montgomery  were  evicted,  they  took  less  interest  in  the 
case ;  and  many  of  those  who  were  not  so  fortunately  circum- 
stanced took  advantage  of  the  generous  offer  of  the  politic 
Seth  to  compromise  with  him  at  a  figure  little  more  than 
nominal.  Others  determined  to  stand  by  Gomery,  and  do  as 
he  did;  though  he  warned  them,  that,  in  this  case,  he  was  a 
most  unsafe  guide  to  follow. 

Hence  it  was,  that,  during  the  time  the  litigation  was 
in  progress,  two  parties  arose  in  the  village.  At  first,  there 
was  no  man  there,  except,  perhaps,  Silas  Barton,  who  did 
not  think  the  claim  of  Mettlar  fraudulent,  and  commend  the 
spirit  of  Gomery  in  refusing  all  compromise,  and  resolving  to 
contest  it  to  the  last.  But,  when  some  began  to  compromise, 
they  found  it  necessary  to  justify  their  apostasy;  and,  to  do 
that,  they  must  praise  the  liberality  and  generosity  of  Mettlar; 
and  from  that  it  was  easy  to  pass  to  comparisons,  and  say, 
that,  under  the  same  circumstances,  Gomery  would  never 
have  been  so  liberal. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  141 

The  result  of  all  this  was,  that,  when  the  final  decision  by 
the  full  bench  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  last  appeals  was 
given,  —  every  point  of  which  was  in  Seth  Mettlar's  favor, — 
Gomery  found  that  he  had  not  only  lost  his  property,  but 
that  many  of  his  friends  now  loudly  cried  out  against  him. 
Seth  had  been  wary  enough  to  conciliate  a  good  part  of  the 
villagers  while  the  case  might  be  said  to  be  still  in  doubt; 
but  when  once  every  point  had  been  decided  in  his  favor,  as 
he  had  warned  them  beforehand,  no  favors  were  granted. 
Those  who  could  not  establish  the  twenty  years'  possession 
were  proceeded  against  without  mercy;  and  by  many  Gomery 
was  held  accountable,  because  they  had  not  compromised 
before  it  was  too  late. 

Besides  this,  as  Deacon  Giles  informed  Joe  Pumpagin, 
when  the  case  was  finally  decided  in  Mettlar's  favor,  he 
brought  a  libel  suit  against  Gomery,  which,  from  the  novel 
line  of  defence  adopted  by  him,  resulted  in  his  being  "cast" 
in  heavy  damages.  The  defence  had  been  justification.  He 
admitted  that  he  had  called  Mettlar  a  forger,  a  knave,  a 
swindler,  a  perjurer,  a  suborner  of  perjury,  a  hypocrite,  and 
yet  had  not  half  described  the  infamy  of  his  character.  But 
as  the  verdicts  and  decisions  of  the  courts  had  not  sustained 
his  cause,  and  he  had  no  proofs  of  fraud  that  had  not  been 
adduced  and  pronounced  insufficient  in  the  civil  case,  he  had 
no  evidence  to  sustain  his  justification,  and  was  left  to  be 
mulcted  in  such  damages  as  a  jury  —  all  of  whom  once  thought 
him  "  a  man  of  most  incorrigible  and  losing  honesty,"  but 
now  regarded  as  an  obstinate,  perverse  calumniator — might 
see  fit  to  inflict. 

Fortunately,  however,  before  this  time,  the  older  sons 
of  Gomery  —  Theron  and  Wirtimir —  had  taken  a  more 
worldly  and  common-sense  view  of  their  father's  difficulties 
than  he  had  himself.  Like  dutiful  children,  they  had  both 
been  on  to  counsel  and  confer  with  their  parents  on  this 
unexpected  turn  in  their  worldly  fortunes;  but,  even  to  them, 
the  old  squire  could  not  and  did  not  confess  how  it  was  that 
he  knew  so  positively  that  the  claim  of  Seth  Mettlar  was  all 
a  fraud  from  beginning  to  end.  He  told  them  that  it  was  so, 
and  he  knew  it;  and  they  had  too  much  respect  and  filial 
reverence  to  question  him  further.  Wirtimir  was  the  first 
to  visit  him  after  hearing  of  the  impending  troubles;  and,  on 
his  return,  he  took  counsel  with  his  elder  brother  on  the  un- 


142  G0MERY   OP   MONTGOMERY". 

toward  event  that  was  so  calculated  to  disturb  the  current 
that  was  to  bear  downwards  to  the  ocean  of  eternity  those 
whom,  above  all  others,  they  had  so  much  reason  to  love  and 
reverence.  Theron  soon  imitated  his  brother's  example,  and 
made  a  visit  to  the  Pivot,  and,  being  convinced  that  the  issue 
of  the  great  suit  was  worse  than  doubtful,  stopped  at  Boston 
on  his  way  home,  and  unbeknown  to  his  father,  and  so  long 
before  the  final  verdict  that  he  could  make  reasonable  terms, 
bought  the  old  homestead,  that  included  the  Pivot,  and  a 
hundred  acres  of  land  surrounding  it.  The  deed,  however, 
was  never  put  on  record  till  the  delays  of  the  law  were 
exhausted ;  for  the  son  was  well  aware  that  his  father  would 
be  greatly  displeased  if  he  knew  that  any  of  his  family  had 
had  any  dealings  with  that  "  canting  knave,"  as  he  always 
called  the  oily-tongued  Seth.  But  when  the  decision  had 
been  rendered  by  the  Appellate  Court,  and  he  had  engaged 
a  small  house  in  the  village,  to  which  he  intended  to  remove, 
and  resume  the  practice  of  law,  and  wait,  as  he  expressed  it, 
"the  justice  that  time  and  nature  always  bring,"  he  was  sur- 
prised to  receive  a  very  polite  note  from  Seth,  informing  him 
that  the  house  at  the  Pivot,  with  the  outbuildings,  and  what 
was  called  the  "Home  Farm,"  had  been  sold  some  months 
before,  to  his  son  Theron,  for  much  less  than  its  value ;  and 
that  he  had  done  so  to  show  that  he  forgave  him  for  the 
harsh  and  unjust  language  he  had  used  towards  him.  To 
this  information  he  added  a  pious  exhortation,  to  the  effect 
that  he  hoped  his  irreligious  and  unbelieving  friend  would 
appreciate  his  Christian  kindness,  forsake  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and,  forgetting  the  vanities  of  this  world,  spend  the 
remnant  of  his  days  in  seeking  his  soul's  salvation. 

The  old  man  was  indignant  at  the  letter;  for  he  believed 
that  Seth  was  a  forger,  and  knew  him  to  be  a  hypocrite  and 
knave.  He  was  also  both  indignant  and  grieved  that  his 
own  son  should  have  had  any  dealings  with  him.  But,  as 
he  knew  he  had  acted  purely  from  filial  kindness  and  affec- 
tion, he  smothered  his  resentment,  and  continued  to  live  in 
the  old  house.  But  as  he  steadily  refused  Seth's  overtures 
for  friendship,  and  did  not  heed  his  request,  communicated 
by  various  officious  persons,  that  by-gones  should  be  by- 
gones, that  worthy  soul  testified  his  further  forgiveness  by 
commencing  a  libel  suit,  laying  his  damages  at  ten  thousand 
dollars ! 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  143 


CHAPTER    X 


Oh  enviable  early  days, 

When  dancing  thoughtless  Pleasure's  maze, 

To  care  and  guilt  unknown  I 
How  ill  exchanged  for  riper  times, 
To  feel  the  follies  or  the  crimes 

Of  others  or  my  own !  " 


Long  before  the  termination  of  the  great  lawsuit,  Walter 
Gomery  had  awakened  so  far  from  his  dreamy  speculations 
as  to  feel  that  the  life  he  was  leading  was  unprofitable,  if 
not  ignoble.  He  saw  as  well  as  others  what  the  final  result 
of  the  long  litigation  must  be ;  and  that,  in  the  natural  order 
of  events,  it  would  be  his  duty  to  earn  his  own  bread.  The 
family  estate  must,  in  all  probability,  sooner  or  later  pass 
into  other  and  unlineal  hands;  and  he  must  make  up  his 
mind  either  to  be  a  dependant  on  his  rich  relatives,  or  launch 
his  untried  bark  on  the  sea  of  the  world's  struggles  and  com- 
petitions. He  had  never  before  considered  that  he  had  any 
thing  else  to  do  in  life  than  live  and  love,  speculate,  and 
write  his  great  book,  that  was  to  confound  doubters,  and 
solve  a  host  of  social,  political,  and  religious  problems.  But 
now  he  perceived  that  he  had  the  duty  before  him  of  earn- 
ing the  bread  he  was  to  eat;  and  that,  to  do  this,  he  must 
break  away  from  his  old  habits  and  customs,  and  go  forth 
into  the  world,  dependent  only  on  himself. 

When  his  mind  was  made  up  as  to  what  duty  required, 
he  was  not  long  in  putting  his  resolution  into  practice. 

The  altered  fortunes  of  the  Gomery  Family  had  caused 
such  a  difference  of  demeanor  in  some  of  the  people  of  the 
village,  that  Walter  felt  it  as  a  reason  for  going  away.  Still 
he  would  have  cared  little  for  it,  but  that  from  one  quar- 
ter he  was  subjected  to  reproaches,  sarcasm,  and  insult. 
Obededom  Homer,  who  was  grown  a  dissipated  young  man 
of  near  his  own  age,  now  turned  upon  him  with  all  the  vin- 
dictiveness  of  his  nature.    Naturally  vicious,  his  misfortune 


144  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

had  rendered  him  worse.  Long  indulged  as  a  suffering  inva- 
lid, he  expected,  when  recovered,  the  same  indulgence  and 
deference  to  his  whims  and  caprices.  We  have  seen  how  he 
repaid  Walter's  kindness  and  attention  when  he  was  suffer- 
ing most.  After  his  pain  had  left  him,  he  was  little  more 
considerate,  and  continued  to  delight  in  playing  practical 
jokes  upon  him,  from  the  double  pleasure  derived  from  an- 
noying Walter  and  grieving  his  sister  Hester.  He  was  a 
cripple,  and  for  a  long  time  went  about  on  crutches :  after- 
wards he  got  along  with  a  single  crutch,  and  at  last  with  a 
cane.  The  right  knee-joint  was  set  at  an  angle  that  barely 
allowed  the  toes  of  that  foot  to  touch  the  ground  as  he  stood 
upright.  As  he  was  an  idler,  he  verified  the  truth  of  the 
saying,  that  "  Satan  will  always  find  some  mischief  for  idle 
hands  to  do."  He  first  took  to  trading  in  jack-knives  and 
watches  with  other  young  men  that  he  met  at  school  and 
about  the  stores;  and  from  this  he  became  a  horse-dealer, 
being  ever  ready  for  a  bargain  with  any  one  who  would 
"  swap  "  and  give  boot.  His  poor  father  would  see  a  good 
horse  swapped  off  for  an  inferior  one,  and  this,  again,  for 
another  still  worse ;  till  finally  the  last  rack-a-bones  would  be 
sold  for  a  song,  and  the  poor  man  would  be  obliged  to  buy 
another.  This  would  be  sure  to  go  in  nearly  the  same  way ; 
until  at  last  the  old  man  determined  to  compromise  affairs 
with  his  son  by  giving  him  the  small  farm  he  owned  a  couple 
of  miles  from  the  village,  on  the  Tivernet  Road,  on  the  con- 
dition he  was  to  take  that,  and  be  satisfied.  But  the  grace- 
less youth  sold  the  farm  within  a  year,  taking  in  payment 
five  hundred  dollars  in  cash  and  three  horses.  The  horses 
he  took  at  once  to  his  father's  stables ;  and,  as  he  was  in 
no  immediate  need  of  money,  he  did  not  trade  them  out  as 
formerly,  but  kept  them  a  long  time  to  eat  up  the  hay  and 
grain  of  his  indulgent  and  grieving  father.  Poor  Tom  Homer, 
now  an  old  man,  groaned  in  spirit  as  he  saw  the  property, 
acquired  with  such  toil,  squandered  and  lost.  But  he  had  no 
power  to  resist.  The  son  was  arrogant,  insolent,  and  domi- 
neering, and  was  master  of  the  house.  When  he  came  home 
from  the  village,  he  brought  no  sunshine  with  him  to  gladden 
the  house.  No  face  smiled  at  his  approach ;  for  the  first 
word  he  uttered  was  sure  to  be  a  surly  complaint  or  angry 
command.  Often  did  Thomas  Homer  and  his  wife  talk  over 
between  themselves  the  ingratitude  and  evil  courses  of  their 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  145 

only  son.  They  felt  that  they  had  no  power  in  themselves 
to  reform  him,  or  save  the  whole  family  from  poverty  and 
ruin.  Under  these  circumstances,  they  were  doubly  pleased 
to  know  of  the  attachment  existing  between  Hester  and 
Walter  Gomery ;  not  doubting  that  it  would  result  in  mar- 
riage, and  that,  therefore,  whatsoever  might  come  to  them 
through  Obed's  folly  and  extravagance,  she  would  be  well 
provided  for. 

But  even  this  hope  was  taken  away  from  them  when  it 
became  evident  that  Squire  Gomery  would  be  left  a  poor 
man,  —  the  poorest  man  in  the  town,  and  quite  unable  to  pay 
his  debts.  Walter  would  inherit  nothing;  and,  as  he  had 
never  given  any  promise  of  business  talent  or  capacity,  it 
seemed  that  they  were  doing  a  great  wrong  to  Hester  in  per- 
mitting Obed  to  squander  what  should  be  rightfully  her 
patrimony.  For  some  time  before  the  commencement  of  the 
great  lawsuit,  Obed  had  accepted  it  as  a  fact  that  his  sister 
would  marry  Walter  Gomery ;  and,  though  too  unamiable  to 
care  for  either  of  them,  his  pride  was  flattered  by  the  in- 
tended connection,  and  he  thought,  too,  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  in  a  pecuniary  sense  to  have  a  rich  relation. 

But,  in  spite  of  these  considerations,  his  malignant  nature 
rejoiced  when  misfortunes  came  upon  the  Gomerys.  He 
never  met  his  sister  but  he  indulged  in  an  exultant  chuckle 
at  the  changed  prospects  of  Walter ;  and,  if  he  met  the  lat- 
ter, his  malicious  eye  revealed  the  triumph  of  his  heart;  and 
his  vicious  tongue  would  let  fall  some  remark,  as  that  some 
folks  who  always  played  the  gentleman  would  have  to  dig 
potatoes  for  a  living  yet. 

Walter  felt  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  leave ;  that  he 
could  not  and  ought  not  to  stay  longer  at  Montgomery. 
His  changed  prospects  were  the  subject  of  many  long  and 
serious  conversations  with  Hester;  and  many  plans  and  pro- 
jects for  the  future  did  they  discuss  and  consider.  She  could 
not  object  to  his  going  away;  for  her  own  heart  was  made  to 
bleed  too  often  by  the  cruel  words  of  her  brother  on  his  ac- 
count for  her  not  to  realize  the  necessity  of  his  departure. 

Hester  Homer  was  "  pure  womanly."  Not  strong-minded, 
nor  intellectually  gifted,  she  was  all  love  and  affection  to 
every  thing  and  everybody.  In  her  childhood,  as  we  have 
seen,  she  had  been  very  delicate,  pale,  and  fragile.  Her  eyes 
were  large  and  blue,  and  her  complexion  was  fine  and  deli- 

VOL.  II.  .  13 


146  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY! 

cate  as  ever  rejoiced  a  proud  mother's  heart.  In  her  earlier 
years,  she  was  so  fragile  as  to  appear  almost  sickly ;  and  it 
was  not  till  she  was  past  her  fifteenth  birthday  that  her 
body  had  acquired  the  strength  and  vigor  necessary  to  de- 
velop all  of  Nature's  reserved  beauties.  She  never  took 
greatly  to  books  or  studies,  but  was  ever  happy  with  her 
pets  and  flowers.  The  dreamy  speculations  of  Walter  she 
could  but  little  appreciate;  but  his  earnest  nature  and  con- 
siderate kindness  appealed  to  her  heart,  and  she  regarded 
him  as  a  being  of  a  superior  order.  When  she  realized  the 
fact  that  it  was  necessary  that  he  must  leave  her  for  a  time, 
she  acquiesced,  though  with  many  tears,  in  the  belief  that  he 
knew  and  would  do  what  was  for  the  best.  She  had  little 
of  self-reliance ;  and,  as  if  conscious  of  her  own  deficiency 
in  this  respect,  she  clung  with  fond  tenacity  to  those  who 
commanded  her  respect;  while,  to  those  who  could  respond 
to  her  affection,  she  gave  her  love  without  suspicion  and  with- 
out guile.  Frank  and  artless  in  her  manner,  she  had  small 
faith  in  her  own  opinions ;  and  partly  from  the  pliancy  of 
her  disposition,  and  partly  from  the  desire  of  seeing  others 
pleased,  she  would  readily  yield  her  own  preferences  and 
pleasures,  if  thereby  the  gratification  of  those  around  her 
could  be  secured. 

Though  Walter,  in  one  sense,  had  not  been  idle  since  leav- 
ing college,  his  occupations  had  been  of  that  kind  that  had 
brought  no  money.  He  had  been  an  omnivorous  reader,  and 
had  written  many  fragments  that  he  intended  to  work  into  the 
great  book  that  he  was  resolved  to  write.  This  idea  he  now 
felt,  that,  for  the  time  at  least,  he  must  give  up ;  for  his  altered 
prospects  would  no  longer  justify  him  in  anticipating  a  quiet 
life  at  the  Pivot,  watching  the  parental  footsteps  as  they  de- 
scended the  down-hill  of  life,  and  sharing  the  pleasures  and 
delights  of  domestic  quiet  with  the  woman  of  his  love,  free 
from  the  cares  and  troubles  that  follow  those  who  strive  for 
wealth  and  fame.  But  these  dreams  must  all  be  given  up ; 
and  so,  with  a  resolution  and  firmness  hardly  to  be  expected 
from  his  character,  he  made  his  preparations  without  impart- 
ing to  any  one  but  his  father  and  mother,  and  her  to  whom 
he  had  promised  to  return  and  at  a  future  time  take  with  him 
to  his  new  and  as  yet  undiscovered  home,  his  intentions  to 
leave  Montgomery,  and  begin  thus  late  the  battle  of  life. 

Though  he  resolved,  previous  to  setting  out,  that  under  no 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  147 

circumstances  would  he  become  in  any  way  dependent  on  his 
rich  relations  in  the  great  cities,  yet,  as  he  must  pass  through 
those  places  on  his  way  to  that  unknown  country  where  he 
expected  to  begin  his  struggles,  he  must,  of  course,  visit  his 
brothers  and  sisters.  This  had  been  enjoined  upon  him  by 
both  father  and  mother ;  and  the  latter  hoped  that  he  might 
by  them  be  induced  to  abandon  his  design  of  going  farther, 
and,  under  their  protection  and  assistance,  embark  in  business 
that  would  place  him,  like  them,  independent  of  the  world. 
But  he  felt  the  impossibility  of  accepting  any  proposition  of 
the  kind.  There  had  never  been  much  sympathy  of  ideas 
between  his  brothers  and  himself.  His  ways  were  not  their 
ways.  He  did  not  incline  to  business ;  nor  could  he  see  how 
the  accumulation  of  wealth  was  in  itself  a  worthy  object,  or 
its  possession  the  highest  earthly  enjoyment.  For  him  there 
were  still  other  objects  in  life;  and  he  had  self-knowledge 
sufficient  to  convince  him,  that,  in  the  pursuit  of  a  vocation  or 
calling  to  which  he  was  by  nature  unfitted,  he  would  proba- 
bly prove  inefficient,  and  fail. 

During  the  time  of  his  miscellaneous  reading,  he  had  been 
ostensibly  studying  law ;  but  his  legal  studies  were  such  as 
would  be  pursued  by  the  statesman  or  political  economist, 
and  not  by  the  practising  attorney.  He  was  well  grounded 
in  the  principles  of  the  noble  science  ;  but  the  forms  of  prac- 
tice he  had  never  learned.  Nevertheless,  after  making  up  his 
mind  to  go  away,  and  before  avowing  his  purpose  to  any  one 
save  Hester,  he  ventured  to  apply  for  admission  to  the  bar ; 
and,  by  good  management,  was  rejected.  The  reason  of  this 
was,  first,  that,  as  the  phrase  went  in  the  village,  "  the  house 
of  Gomery  was  falling ; "  and,  second,  that  he  knew  too  much. 
His  examiners  began  by  proposing  what  they  thought  puz- 
zling questions :  but  he  entered  into  the  principles  on  which 
certain  rules  of  the  law  were  founded,  so  fully  as  to  confound 
them,  and,  by  a  sort  of  cross-questioning  them  in  turn,  so 
thoroughly  exposed  their  own  ignorance  of  the  fundamental 
principles  of  law,  that  they  unanimously  reported  him  not 
qualified;  adding  the  consoling  advice,  that,  with  a  couple  of 
years  more  of  study,  he  would  doubtless  be  able  to  pass  a 
satisfactory  examination.  This  result  astonished  many  peo- 
ple ;  and  it  was  remarked,  that  if  he  had  applied  a  year  and  a 
half  before,  when  he  did  not  know  half  so  much  law,  he 
would  doubtless   have   been   admitted  to  practice,  without 


148  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

question.  But  the  Mettlar  suit  had  intervened  ;  and  even  the 
best  friends  of  the  Gomerys  felt  a  secret  satisfaction  at  their 
misfortunes.  Now,  any  thing  that  could  humiliate  was  not 
considered  improbable. 

Amid  all  these  reverses  and  calamities,  however,  the  old 
squire  was  as  light  of  heart,  apparently,  as  ever;  and,  though 
he  saw  clearly  enough  that  his  neighbors  paid  him  less  defer- 
ence than  formerly,  he  took  good  care  that  they  should  not 
perceive  that  he  observed  it.  Even  the  parson  of  the  All- 
saints  could  with  difficulty  get  an  opportunity  to  express  his 
condolence  with  him,  and  to  warn  him,  in  view  of  his  uncer- 
tain tenure  of  his  worldly  possessions,  to  lay  up  treasures  in 
heaven  ;  and,  if  his  earthly  riches  were  swept  away,  to  con- 
sider it  as  a  lesson,  doubtless  sent  as  a  special  providence  to 
punish  him  for  his  unbelief.  To  this  his  rejoinder  was,  that 
■  if  I  were  as  orthodox  in  belief  and  as  loud  in  my  prayer  as 
the  canting  thief  who  is  trying  to  rob  me,  it  would  not,  pro- 
bly,  save  my  property ;  and,  if  it  would,  how  then  could  your 
good  brother  Mettlar  be  rewarded  for  his  piety?  Could  my 
property  be  gained  by  him,  and  saved  to  me  by  that  means, 
and  thus,  by  a  sort  of  transubstantiation  or  a  hocus-pocus, 
both  of  us  be  rewarded  for  our  piety  ?  " 

The  good  parson  said  that  "great  is  the  mystery  of  godli- 
ness ; "  and  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  bring  him  to  a  sense  of 
his  condition,  until,  like  Dives,  he  waked  up  in  hell,  being  in 
torment,  and  beheld  Mettlar  like  Lazarus  in  Abraham's  bosom. 
This  retort  was  reported  to  the  faithful  at  the  next  conference, 
and  they  were  greatly  comforted. 

Proud,  ambitious  Mrs.  Gomery,  however,  did  not  regard 
the  impending  loss  of  property  so  calmly  and  wisely  as  did 
her  husband.  She  showed  that  she  was  annoyed  by  the 
changed  manners  of  her  neighbors ;  and,  instead  of  bruskly 
laughing  to  herself  at  their  folly  and  fickleness,  she  made  many 
little  observations,  that,  though  sarcastic  and  just,  still  afforded 
the  objects  of  them  consolation ;  for  they  showed  that  she  was 
annoyed  and  hurt.  But  she  mixed  little  with  society,  and 
shut  herself  up  as  exclusively  as  possible  in  her  own  house; 
and,  after  a  while,  was  so  seldom  seen  abroad,  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  malicious  friends  and  neighbors  to  annoy  her, 
and,  which  grieved  them  worse,  to  know  that  she  was  annoyed. 

All  these  changes  were  observed  by  Walter,  and  contrib- 
uted to  make  him  impatient  of  delay.     Any  place  in  the 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  149 

world,  it  seemed  to  him,  would  be  less  suggestive  of  unpleas- 
ant thoughts  than  his  native  village ;  and  he  left  it,  feeling  th.it 
he  was  an  exile,  and  must  return  to  it  as  his  home  never 
again.  He  took  with  him  only  money  enough  to  serve  him, 
at  the  most,  two  months  ;  for  he  concluded,  that,  if  ever  he  was 
to  earn  his  bread,  the  sooner  he  began,  the  better  it  would  be. 
Of  all  things,  he  now  most  wanted  to  get  to  work ;  for  he  was 
no  sickly  sentimentalist  whining  and  puling  for  sympathy,  but, 
when  the  necessity  for  labor  and  endurance  appeared,  he  was 
ready  to  bear  his  part.  Though  aware  that  any  call  for  aid 
from  home,  or  from  either  brother  or  sister,  would  be  prompt- 
ly and  cheerfully  responded  to,  yet  he  was  determined  that 
in  no  contingency  would  he  ever  call  for  help  from  any  such 
source ;  and  this  not  so  much  from  pride  as  from  the  reflection 
that  he  was  a  well  man,  possessed  of  all  his  faculties ;  and,  if 
he  could  not  earn  his  bread,  he  concluded  —  as  many  others 
might  with  propriety  —  that  he  had  better  die. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  house  of  his  brother  and  brother-in- 
law  at  New  York,  his  reception  was  more  cordial  and  warm 
than  he  had  expected.  Indeed,  for  the  past  few  years,  he 
had  seen  little  of  his  brothers  or  sisters.  His  memory  of 
the  former,  when  he  was  a  boy,  was  of  large,  rough,  rollick- 
ing fellows,  that  often  dealt  rudely  with  him,  delighting  to 
annoy  his  pets,  and  always  laughing  at  his  queer,  old-fash- 
ioned ways.  Since  then,  they  had  always  regarded  him  as 
odd  and  eccentric  ;  and  always  spoke  slightingly  of  his  pro- 
pensity to  retirement,  and  unprofitable  dreaming  and  specu- 
lations. But,  if  such  a  life  suited  him,  they  cared  little 
about  it  as  long  as  every  thing  went  prosperously  at  the  old 
homestead.  That  they  would,  of  course,  always  wish  to 
keep  in  the  family;  and  if  he  preferred  to  remain  there, 
and  inherit  the  Pivot,  it  would  always  be  to  them  and  their 
children  a  delightful  retreat,  to  which  they  would  make 
occasional  pilgrimages  when  wishing  to  escape  from  the 
cares  and  excitement  of  town  life.  But  now  that  their 
father  was  like  to  be  stripped  of  all  his  property,  and  the 
Pivot,  if  not  rescued  by  them  from  the  spoiler's  hands,  would 
go  to  strangers,  they  thought  it  high  time  for  Walter  to  give 
up  dreaming,  and  set  himself  to  business.  Accordingly, 
when  he  reached  New  York,  his  brother  Theron,  his  sis- 
ter Juliet,  and  his  brother-in-law  Jenks,  all  tried  to  per- 
suade him  to  give  up  his  project  of  going  off  on  a  wild-goose 

13* 


150  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

chase  he  knew  not  whither  or  for  what  object,  and  set 
himself  down  to  the  routine  of  business  in  some  house  in 
New  York;  assuring  him  that  they  could  easily  find  him  any 
situation  that  he  was  competent  to  fill.  But,  however  ro- 
mantic his  ideas,  he  acted  on  his  own  convictions ;  and  for 
reasons  within  his  own  mind,  when  once  he  had  resolved,  he 
was  not  to  be  coaxed,  persuaded,  or  driven  from  his  purpose. 
At  Philadelphia,  he  was  subjected  to  still  stronger  pressure 
to  induce  him  to  remain  there :  but  the  result  was  the  same ; 
and  after  spending  a  fortnight  there,  debating  whether  he 
should  go  west  or  south,  an  incident  occurred  that  deter- 
mined his  course.  But,  until  we  know  any  thing  more  of 
him  or  his  fortunes,  many  changes  will  take  place  at  Mont- 
gomery ;  and  we  shall  meet  with  some  old  acquaintances  in 
whom  the  reader  may  still  have  an  interest. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  151 


CHAPTER   XI. 

"Adieu  1  —  a  heart- warm,  fond  adieu  I 
Though  I  to  foreign  lands  must  hie, 
Pursuing  Fortune's  slidd'ryba', 
With  melting  heart  and  brimful  eye 
I'll  mind  you  still,  though  far  awa\"  —  Burns. 

The  great  lawsuit  has  been  brought  to  a  close,  and  the 
final  decision  has  been  given ;  and  a  year  has  passed  since 
Seth  Mettlar  was  declared,  by  the  highest  tribunal  in  the 
land,  to  be  the  owner  of  the  Gault-Gomery  Estate.  The 
village  is  changed  from  what  it  once  was.  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery has  not  the  influence  he  once  had ;  and  he  no  longer 
tries  to  exert  what  is  left  to  him.  The  village  has  changed, 
not  so  much  in  outward  appearance  as  in  the  character  of 
its  people.  There  the  stern  yet  glowing  light  of  Freeborn 
Gomery's  presence  is  not  potent,  as  formerly,  to  hush  scan- 
dal, and  frown  down  strife  and  litigation.  The  whole  place 
seems  to  have  become  quarrelsome  and  litigious.  Neighbor 
is  now  against  neighbor ;  and  strife  and  contention  are  in 
many  places  where  they  had  before  been  unknown.  Even 
Cook  and  Craig,  both  of  whom  are  now  grandfathers,  have 
fallen  out  again  ;  and  neither  has  the  assurance  to  apply  to 
Gomery  for  counsel  or  advice. 

"With  the  change  in  the  fortunes  of  Freeborn  Gomery,  or, 
as  the  people  ambitiously  expressed  it,  with  "the  fall  of  the 
house  of  Gomery,"  Diller's  Tavern  seemed  to  lose  its  char- 
acter. His  wife  had  become  aged  and  infirm;  and  even 
Diller's  strength  was  too  often  recuperated  from  the  bottle. 
People  continued  to  meet  in  his  bar-room  to  talk  over  public 
affairs:  but  now  they  invariably  came  to  personalities;  and 
many  bruised  shins,  bloody  noses,  and  broken  heads,  were 
carried  out  of  his  doors.  He  was  no  longer  the  active, 
loquacious  little  fusser  of  the  jolly  days  of  old.  His  tongue 
only  knew  its  old  vigor  when  the  character  and  fortunes  of 
Gomery  of  Montgomery  were  under  discussion.     Then  he 


152  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY! 

always  waxed  wroth,  and  declared  that  Goraery  was,  in  all 
respects,  the  best  man  and  the  best  Christian  he  ever  knew, 
or  ever  expected  to  know,  and  that  he  had  been  robbed  of 
his  property  by  the  meanest  lantern -jawed  hypocrite  that 
ever  disgraced  the  Eagle  by  his  presence;  and  all  who  did 
not  agree  with  him  were  requested  never  to  darken  his 
doors. 

And  all  this,  too,  when  Seth  Mettlar  was  his  guest,  and 
occupying  the  best  rooms  in  his  house,  and  paying  double 
the  price  he  had  ever  asked  before.  He  had  grown  old  in 
the  faith  that  Gomery  was  the  man  to  stand  by  and  to 
swear  by ;  and,  now  that  misfortunes  were  upon  him,  he  was 
more  vehement  than  ever  in  his  praises.  This  was  well 
known  to  Seth,  who,  for  a  year  before  the  lawsuit  was  finally 
decided,  had  been  a  resident  of  Montgomery,  living  all  the 
while  at  Diller's  Tavern.  But  he  never  combated  Diller's 
opinions  or  expressions :  on  the  contrary,  he  rather  com- 
mended his  fidelity,  saying  it  was  a  most  noble  trait  to 
stand  by  one's  friends  in  misfortune.  Further  than  this,  the 
meek  and  misrepresented  Seth  gave  no  sign,  except  to  avoid 
the  subject,  and  avoid  Diller,  too,  when  he  was  about 
opening  on  his  favorite  topic. 

This,  however,  was  not  long  to  continue,  though  Seth's 
forbearance  was  often  cited  by  his  friends  as  evidence  of 
his  Christian  charity.  He  endured  all  the  hard  things  said 
of  him  by  the  chattering  old  landlord  until  after  the  final 
decision,  beyond  which  there  was  no  appeal.  Then  he  left 
the  house ;  and,  for  reasons  not  suspected  at  the  time,  he 
bought  and  moved  into  the  cottage-house  about  a  mile  from 
the  village,  and  near  to  the  house  of  Thomas  Homer.  Here, 
with  one  servant  brought  from  Boston,  he  began  keeping 
bachelor's  hall.  He  and  Obededom  had  somehow  become 
great  friends,  though  very  different  in  habits  and  character. 
There  was  one  point  of  sympathy  between  them,  and  that 
was  mutual  hatred  of  the  Gomerys.  Obededom  had  traded 
out  and  squandered  the  proceeds  of  the  farm  his  father  had 
given  him ;  and  Seth  was  so  indulgent  as  to  loan  him  small 
sums  of  money  on  his  own  security,  and  larger  ones  when 
his  father  could  be  coaxed  or  bullied  into  giving  his  note. 
This  acquaintanceship  was  highly  gratifying  to  Mrs.  Homer, 
who  hoped  great  good  from  it  for  Obed  :  and  she  remarked 
to  her  husband,  that  tfye  influence  of  so  religious  and  worthy 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  153 

a  man  as  Mr.  Mettlar  would  be  of  great  benefit  to  Obed ;  for 
"  he  always  was  a  good-hearted  boy."  But  Thomas  shook 
his  head,  and  said  he  feared  no  good  would  come  from  those 
who  made  war  on  Gomery  of  Montgomery. 

It  was  not  long  after  Seth  had  changed  his  quarters  from 
the  Eagle  to  his  own  house,  when  it  so  happened  that  Obed 
Homer  came  into  the  bar-room  to  treat  a  friend  who  had 
just  cheated  him  at  a  horse-trade.  There  were  a  number  of 
people  in  the  room,  including  several  of  the  villagers,  and 
half  a  dozen  travellers  who  had  stopped  there  for  the  night. 
Obed,  feeling  rich,  invited  everybody  to  drink ;  and,  in  the 
course  of  the  conversation  that  followed,  he  spoke  of  the 
brighter  prospects  for  the  people  of  Montgomery  now  that 
Old  Gomery  had  been  obliged  to  disgorge  the  wealth  that 
never  was  his,  and  a  man  of  enterprise  and  Christian  prin- 
ciples had  come  in  to  give  business  a  start  and  clever  fellows 
a  chance. 

This  remark  was  overheard  by  Diller,  who,  standing  behind 
his  bar  on  a  raised  platform  that  added  eight  inches  to  his 
height,  always  felt  free  to  launch  forth  his  opinions  of  men 
and  things ;  and  accordingly  he  spoke  up,  so  that  his  sharp, 
piping  voice  could  be  heard  clear  into  the  street,  and  said, 
that  as  he  believed,  and  every  other  honest  man,  —  though 
he  gave  his  opinion  confidentially,  and  not  publicly,  —  the 
Gomery  property  had  all  been  stolen  by  them  Boston  rascals, 
and  that  Seth  Mettlar  was  the  king  on  'em  ;  and  that  he  had 
no  more  right  to  it  than  Buck  Robinson  had  to  the  horse  he 
stole  of  Cyrus  Saunders,  and  which  he  was  now  in  the  State 
Prison  for.  If  justice  was  done,  he  added,  he  guessed  that 
Buck  Robinson  and  Seth  Mettlar  would  put  up  at  the  same 
tavern. 

This  tirade  of  the  rash  landlord  was  duly  reported  to 
Mettlar  by  his  faithful  friend  Obed  the  next  day,  which 
happened  to  be  Sunday,  as  the  good  man  was  sitting  in  front 
of  his  cottage,  towards  evening,  conversing  with  several  of 
his  neighbors  on  certain  theological  points  that  had  been 
authoritatively  settled  that  day  by  Parson  Skeelrnan  in  his 
afternoon's  discourse.  In  the  heat  of  the  discussion,  Obed 
drove  up  in  a  flashy  light  wagon  drawn  by  the  horse  he 
had  traded  for  the  day  before,  paying  boot  with  the  money 
lent  him  by  Mettlar.  Alighting  from  his  carriage,  he  limped 
up  towards  the  house,  and  was  met  half-way  by  Seth,  who 


154  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  1 

warmly  shook  his  hand,  remonstrating  with  him  at  the  same 
time  for  not  having  been  at  church,  assuring  him  that  he  had 
lost  a  great  deal. 

"Yes,  yes !  I  dare  say ;  but  I  will  attend  to  those  things  in 
time.  The  Devil  ain't  going  to  catch  me ;  and,  if  he  thinks 
he  has  got  me  fast,  he'll  find  I'll  slip  the  halter  yet  before  I 
kick  the  bucket.  But  I  haven't  come  to  talk  religion ;  in- 
deed, I  make  a  d — d  poor  fist  of  it  when  I  try  it.  I've  come 
to  let  you  know  what  that  magpie  of  old  Gomery  says  of 
you,  and  to  tell  you,  that,  if  you  don't  shut  up  his  clam- 
shells, I  shall.  It  makes  my  blood  bile  to  see  my  friends 
abused  so ! " 

"  Why,  what  did  he  say  ?  "  spoke  up  several. 

"  He  said  that  Mr.  Mettlar  was  a  thief  and  a  robber ;  had 
stole  old  Gomery's  property;  was  the  king  of  the  Boston 
rascals ;  and  that  he  had  no  more  right  to  his  property  than 
Buck  Robinson  had  to  the  horse  he  stole  from  Cyrus  Saun- 
ders, that  he  was  sent  to  jail  for ;  and,  if  justice  was  done,  he 
and  Buck  would  put  up  at  the  same  tavern,  and  sleep  in  the 
same  bed." 

Seth  said  "  it  was  a  great  pity  men  should  be  so  unjust 
to  those  who  never  did  them  any  harm ;  but  Diller  was  a 
poor  weak  creature,  a  silly  tool  of  Freeborn  Gomery,  and  he 
could  not  feel  it  in  his  heart  to  resent  his  scandalous  words. 
Indeed,  he  was  not  angry,  —  not  at  all :  he  knew  the  weak- 
ness of  poor  human  nature,  and  that  the  heart  of  man  was 
deceitful  above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked." 

"You  will  certainly  take  some  means  to  put  a  stop  to  his 
calumnies,"  said  Nathan  Jones,  a  man  who  had  early  es- 
poused the  cause  of  Seth,  as  he  said,  on  religious  grounds, 
for  the  good  reason  that  he  always  regarded  Gomery  of 
Montgomery  as  a  godless,  graceless  man. 

"  No :  I  can  forgive  him,  not  only  till  seven  times,  but  till 
seventy  times  seven." 

"  But  he  says  he  won't  have  your  forgiveness,"  said  Na- 
than. "  I  have  heard  him  talk ;  and  when  I  told  how  you 
disregarded  his  vile  words,  and  did  not  resent  them,  but,  in 
view  of  his  ignorance,  would  freely  forgive  him,  he  replied, 
that  when  you  gave  up  the  property,  and  confessed  you  had 
got  it  by  fraud  and  forgery,  then  you  might  forgive  him,  but 
not  before." 

Seth  cast  his  eyes  upwards  as  if  beseeching  Heaven  to 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  155 

witness  his  resignation  under  persecution,  but  afterwards  sat 
moody  and  silent.  His  friends  and  neighbors  soon  after  took 
their  leave,  more  than  ever  impressed  that  the  town  and  the 
church  had  made  a  great  acquisition  in  having  for  its  richest 
and  most  influential  citizen  a  man  so  meek  and  orthodox, 
instead  of  the  free-thinking,  sternly-judging  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery. 

After  Seth's  friends  had  left  him,  he  sat  for  some  time 
meditating  vengeance  on  little  Diller.  He  was  such  a  garru- 
lous, irrepressible  talker,  that  he  thought  it  would  be  undig- 
nified to  pursue  him  for  libel  as  he  had  Gomery;  and,  be- 
sides, he  wanted  to  show  that  he  was  of  a  forgiving  spirit. 
So  he  resolved  to  ruin  him  by  putting  up  an  opposition  tav- 
ern, larger  and  better  than  the  Eagle,  and  thus  take  away 
his  custom.  This  he  would  do  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  as 
a  public-spirited  citizen;  but  he  would  bear  no  malice  to 
Diller.  He  would  only  rescue  travellers  from  the  necessity 
of  listening  to  his  slanderous  tongue. 

A  large  vacant  lot  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  over 
against  the  Eagle,  had  always  been  retained  by  Gomery; 
and  this  having,  with  the  rest  of  that  estate,  fallen  in  due 
course  of  law  to  Seth  Mettlar,  he  determined  to  make  this 
the  site  of  the  new  hotel.  He  talked  over  his  project  with 
some  of  his*most  confidential  friends  ;  and,  that  it  might  not 
appear  to  be  a  scheme  of  his  own  to  revenge  himself  on  Dil- 
ler, he  proposed  to  make  a  joint-stock  company,  and  take 
the  most  of  the  stock  to  himself.  They  readily  joined  in  the 
enterprise ;  and,  in  a  few  days,  it  was  announced  that  a  new 
hotel  was  to  be  built  right  opposite  the  Eagle,  so  much 
larger,  finer,  and  more  commodious,  that  little  Diller's  house 
would  appear  but  as  a  pig-sty  beside  it.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  some  men  took  stock  in  this  new  hotel,  of  whom  better 
things  were  to  be  expected ;  for,  disguise  it  to  themselves  as 
they  might  that  they  acted  only  from  a  desire  to  encourage 
public  enterprise,  they  all  knew  that  the  project  originated 
in  the  malice  of  Seth  Mettlar.  Among  these  were  both 
Craig  and  Cook  and  Thomas  Homer;  the  latter,  however, 
being  pressed  into  it  by  his  wife  and  his  hopeful  son,  the 
former  of  whom  had  always  been  a  worshipper  of  wealth, 
and  regarded  poverty  as  a  crime ;  While  money,  more  com- 
prehensive than  charity,  would  cover  every  sin. 

The  scheme  was  hardly  mooted  before  it  came  to  Diller's 


156  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

ears,  and  he  at  once  understood  its  dread  import.  He  was 
to  be  ruined  by  inches  by  the  cool,  malignant  Seth  Met- 
tlar.  At  first  his  rage  was  so  great,  that  he  could  say  noth- 
ing; and,  when  asked  what  he  thought  of  the  project,  his 
tongue  failed.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  he  to  the  bystanders, 
"excuse  me:  I  can't  at  present  do  justice  to  the  subject." 
As  evening  fell,  he  thought  he  would  go  up  and  consult  his 
old  friend  Gomery  on  the  aspect  of  things :  but,  just  as  he 
was  sallying  forth  into  the  street,  he  saw  a  carriage  with 
two  horses  drive  by  in  the  direction  of  the  Pivot ;  and,  as 
he  had  no  doubt  it  contained  one  of  the  sons  or  daughters 
from  abroad,  he  thought  it  better  to  postpone  his  visit  till 
morning. 

Diller  had  been  right  in  his  conjecture.  The  carnage  that 
he  saw  passing  through  the  village  the  night  before  con- 
tained Wirtimir  Gomery  and  his  eldest  son,  now  a  good- 
sized  lad.  He  had  come  on  to  see  what  could  be  done  for 
the  old  people,  who  latterly,  though  still  living  at  the  Pivot, 
had  found  life  less  pleasant  than  before  the  dark  shadow  of 
Seth  Mettlar  had  crossed  their  path.  They  were  alone  ;  not 
one  of  their  children  was  left  with  them :  and,  under  their 
changed  circumstances,  they  did  not  wish  any  one  to  remain 
there,  and  be  compelled  to  witness  the  changes  that  were 
going  on,  especially  in  the  respect  and  regard  shown  to  the 
family.  But  a  greater  source  of  grief  to  them  was  that  they 
had  heard  nothing  from  Walter  since  he  left  Philadelphia. 
They  knew  he  had  there  shipped  on  a  small  vessel  to  go 
farther  south ;  but  even  the  name  of  the  vessel  was  unknown 
to  them.  Had  he  been  lost  at  sea  ?  and  were  his  bones  lying 
at  the  bottom  of  the  Atlantic  ?  Was  he  cast  away  on  a 
desert  shore  ?  or  was  he  wandering,  suffering,  perhaps,  in  a 
foreign  land?  A  year  had  gone  by,  and  not  a  word  from 
him  had  his  parents  received,  and  they  greatly  feared  that 
he  had  found  a  watery  grave ;  wfyen  one  autumn  evening, 
as  Mrs.  Gomery  was  sitting  alone,  just  as  daylight  was 
shutting  down  into  darkness,  thinking  of  poor  Walter, 
the  door  opened,  and  Hester  Homer  entered.  The  candles 
had  not  yet  been  lighted;  but  the  light  from  the  brisk 
autumn  fire  was  sufficient  to  reveal  the  excited  features  of 
Hester. 

"  What,  Hester,  you  ! "  said  Mrs.  Gomery,  rising  and  em- 
bracing her,  while  the  tears  rolled  fast  down  the  cheeks  of 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  157 

both.  "What  has  brought  you  ?  you  have  not  been  here  for 
so  long." 

Hester  sank  down  in  a  low  chair,  and  faintly  said,  "A 
letter ! " 

Mrs.  Gomery  also  sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  gasped,  "  A 
letter,  a  letter  !  —from  Walter?  " 

"Yes,  from  Walter;  but  I  have  not  seen  it.  Oh,  dear, 
dear  \  I  shall  go  crazy ;  indeed  I  shall :  I  can't  live  this  life 
any  longer.  Do  take  me  here,  and  let  me  live  with  you ! 
Obed  has  got  the  letter,  and  read  it,  and  says  he  has 
lost  it." 

"  Ah,  thank  God !  then  he  is  alive." 

"Yes  :  he  is  alive,  but  is  dead  to  me.     But  it  is  false  !  " 

"  Dear  child,  be  calm  !     What  does  he  say  ?  " 

Between  sobs  and  tears,  she  managed  in  time  to  say  that 
Obed  found  a  letter  for  her  in  the  post-office,  and  opened 
and  read  it ;  and  Walter  wrote  that  he  had  become  tutor  to 
a  rich  planter's  family,  and  should  never  return. 

" '  Tis  false ! "  said  Mrs.  Gomery  firmly:  "  he  wrote  no  such 
thing!" 

"  He  says,  too,  I  had  better  forget  him  ;  for  he  is  soon  to 
be  married  to  the  planter's  daughter,  who  is  heiress  to  a  large 
plantation." 

"  'Tis  false !     Show  me  the  letter ! " 

"  He  says,  that,  after  reading  the  letter,  he  put  it  in  his  hat; 
and,  in  coming  home,  it  blew  off,  and  the  letter  flew  into  the 
river,  and  he  has  forgot  the  name  of  the  place  where  the 
letter  was  written." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.     He  never  got  any  letter." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  did !  for  father  was  there  too,  and  saw  the 
postmaster  give  it  to  him." 

"  Did  your  father  read  the  letter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  Pie  wouldn't  read  my  letter  without  my  per- 
mission." 

The  truth  was,  a  letter  had  been  received,  and  given  by 
the  postmaster  to  her  father;  and  he,  unthinkingly,  gave  it 
to  Obed  to  take  home  to  his  sister.  The  old  man  had  come 
to  the  village  with  his  ox-team  to  haul  out  some  lumber  to 
repair  his  barn ;  and  Obed  was,  of  course,  there  with  his 
horse  and  wagon.  The  letter  was  Well  worn,  as  though  it 
had  come  a  long  way ;  and  Obed  saw  that  it  was  in  Wal- 
ter's handwriting. 

VOL.   II.  14 


158  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

The  reader  has  doubtless  discovered  ere  this  that  Obed 
has  set  his  heart  on  having  his  sister  marry  Seth  Mettlar, 
notwithstanding  she  is  not  twenty,  and  he  is  past  forty-five. 
From  the  first  (partly  from  admiration,  and  partly  from  mal- 
ice), Seth  had  determined  to  crown  his  triumph  over  the 
Gomerys  by  winning  to  himself,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  the 
woman  who  had,  from  a  child,  been  plighted  to  Walter.  It 
was  to  have  an  ally  in  Obed  that  Seth  had  affected  so  much 
friendship  towards  him,  and  been  so  free  to  lend  him  money. 
But,  though  words  of  praise  of  his  friend  were  always  in 
Obed's  mouth  when  in  the  presence  of  his  sister,  he  never 
could  induce  her  to  tolerate  his  presence.  Though  yielding 
and  gentle  generally,  yet,  whenever  Seth  Mettlar  came  to 
the  house,  she  kept  her  own  room,  against  both  the  threats 
and  persuasions  of  Obed  and  her  mother.  The  latter  had 
adopted  the  views  of  her  son,  and  was  as  eager  as  he  that  she 
should  look  kindly  on  Seth.  Hester  saw  through  the  whole 
scheme,  and,  for  a  while,  used  to  steal  away  from  home  as 
often  as  possible,  and  go  and  take  counsel  with  Mrs.  Gom- 
ery.  But  this  refuge  and  solace  were  soon  forbidden  her; 
and  she  felt  herself  to  be  a  prisoner  at  home,  —  a  sort  of  An- 
dromeda exposed  to  a  monster. 

Affairs  were  at  this  stand  at  the  time  that  Obed  received 
the  letter,  and  started  for  home,  having  it  in  his  pocket.  On 
his  way,  he  was  greatly  troubled  for  fear  it  might  contain  a 
promise  of  Walter's  return ;  in  which  event,  all  his  affection- 
ate and  brotherly  designs  would  come  to  nought.  So,  in  his 
doubt  and  dilemma,  he  resolved  to  call,  on  his  way  home, 
and  take  counsel  with  his  friend  Seth  Mettlar. 

Seth  at  once  proposed  that  he  should  open  the  letter,  and 
read  it ;  and  Obed  concluded  that  they  must  do  that,  in  order 
to  ascertain  what  it  would  be  necessary  and  proper  to  do 
next.  So  Obed  broke  the  seal,  and  read  the  letter  to  his 
friend.  It  was  full  of  tenderness  and  affection,  and  gave  an 
account  of  his  doings  since  his  last  letter  was  written  ;  which, 
he  said,  he  had  enclosed  in  one  to  his  mother  six  months 
before.  He  wondered  why  he  had  never  received  an  answer 
to  it.  He  concluded  by  promising  to  return,  at  the  farthest, 
in  two  years,  if  life  were  spared  him.  By  that  time,  he 
doubted  not  he  would  be  able  to  offer  her  a  humble  home. 

"That  letter  must  be  stopped,"  said  Seth. 

"It  can't  be  done :  father  knows  I  have  got  it;  and  so  does 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  159 

Capt.  Keyes,  the  postmaster.  He  said  he  guessed  it  was 
from  Walter  Gomery." 

"Can't  you  lose  it?"  said  Seth.  "Say  that  your  hat  blew 
off,  and  it  flew  into  the  river." 

"But  she  will  know  I  had  it,  and  will  think  he  is  coming 
right  home;  and  that  will  be  worse  than  the  letter." 

"Tell  her  that  the  seal  was  already  broken,  and  that  you 
read  it,  and  he  said  he  was  never  coming  home  again,  but 
was  going  to  many  another  girl." 

"I  might  do  that,"  said  Obed  musingly.  "I  think,  how- 
ever, I  will  keep  the  letter;  and,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the 
worst,  I  can  give  it  up,  and  say  I  only  meant  it  as  a  joke." 

"  That  will  never  do,"  said  Seth,  taking  the  letter,  and 
carefully  reading  it  over  to  himself,  and  then  handing  it  back. 
You  are  not  afraid,  I  hope,  of  such  a  milk-sop  as  this  Walter." 

"Me  afraid  of  any  Gomery!  I'll  show  you  how  much  1 
am  afraid  of  him!"  And  with  this  he  crumpled  the  letter, 
and  threw  it  in  the  fire. 

"All  right,"  said  Seth;  "but  don't  let  her  know  that  I 
knew  any  thing  about  it.  If  she  takes  on  too  much,  you  can 
tell  her  how  to  direct  her  letter,  and  she  will  get  another. 
But  I  didn't  notice  where  this  was  dated." 

"  Nor  I :  what  a  pity  !  "  Seth,  however,  had  noticed  it, 
and  had  made  the  suggestion  to  see  if  Obed  had  done  the 
same ;  and,  as  soon  as  Obed  had  left  him,  he  jotted  it  down  in 
his  note-book,  that  it  should  not  afterwards  slip  his  memory. 

Mrs.  Gomery  saw  that  a  cruel  imposition  had  been  attempt- 
ed on  Hester,  and  told  her  so.  She  said  that  the  letter 
doubtless  contained  the  most  cheering  news,  or  else  it  would 
not  have  been  lost ;  that  she  would  probably  get  another  one 
soon ;  and,  in  the  mean  while,  she  must  speak  to  the  postmaster 
to  deliver  no  more  of  her  letters,  except  into  her  own  hand. 

But  these  encouraging  words  gave  small  consolation  to 
poor  Hester.  She  returned  home  as  sad  as  she  came.  It 
had  got  to  be  dark  before  she  set  out  to  cross  over  by  the 
back  path  from  the  Pivot;  and  as  she  hurried  home,  being 
blinded  by  her  tears,  in  crossing  a  brook  she  made  a  misstep, 
and  wet  her  feet.  On  reaching  home,  for  the  first  time  she 
was  glad  to  learn  that  Seth  Mettlar  was  in  the  parlor,  as  it 
gave  her  an  excuse  for  going  to  her  own  room,  and  thus  es- 
caping from  the  censuring  eye  of  her  mother.  She  sat  an 
hour  in  her  room,  thinking  over  the  events  of  the  day,  till 


160  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

at  last  the  cold  dampness  of  her  extremities  warned  her  of 
her  careless  exposure.  She  took  up  her  Bible,  and  read  a  few 
verses,  not  comprehending  a  word.  Then  she  breathed  a 
prayer;  and  then 

"  Her  gentle  limbs  did  she  undress, 
And  lay  down  in  her  loveliness." 

But  not  to  sleep.  What  with  the  excitement  and  the  ex- 
posure, she  tossed  about,  growing  each  moment  more  fidgety, 
till  at  last  the  idea  possessed  her  that  she  was  wandering 
barefoot  over  the  frozen  ground,  seeking  for  Walter;  and  so 
vividly  did  the  hallucination  possess  her,  that  she  called  aloud 
on  his  name,  so  that  both  her  father  and  mother  were  awa- 
kened from  their  first  sleep  by  her  cries.  They  both  hastened 
to  her  room  ;  but  Hester  knew  them  not.  She  called  upon 
them,  with  a  voice  harsh  and  unnatural,  to  give  her  back 
Walter.  The  mother  looked  at  her  daughter,  whose  wild, 
unnatural  eyes  smote  her  to  the  heart ;  and,  hardly  knowing 
what  she  said,  she  exclaimed,  "  God's  curse  is  upon  me,  I 
verily  believe!"  The  old  man  hurried  from  the  room,  and 
called  up  Obed  (who  slept  in  a  distant  part  of  the  house), 
and  bade  him  hurry  for  the  doctor;  for  that  Hester  was  stark 
mad,  and  calling  for  Walter. 

Even  this  selfish,  heartless,  and  unnatural  brother  was  now 
alarmed.  He  hastily  dressed  ;  and  seizing  his  cane,  and  hur- 
rying to  the  stable,  he  brought  out  and  harnessed  his  horse, 
and  was  away  to  find  the  doctor.  The  wise  and  learned  Dr. 
Purkitt  had  been  gathered,  with  all  his  wisdom,  to  his 
fathers,  long  before  this ;  and  it  was  profanely  remarked  by 
sundry  of  his  left-handed  admirers,  that,  by  such  an  acquisi- 
tion, the  amount  of  knowledge  in  the  other  world  must  be 
greatly  increased.  Dr.  Toler  was  now  the  recognized 
physician  of  Montgomery.  As  Obed  was  driving  towards 
his  house  as  fast  as  he  dared  in  the  darkness,  he  could  not 
but  think  that  perhaps  his  sister  would  die,  and  then  he  must 
admit  that  he  had  killed  her.  Then  the  thought  of  how,  for 
long  years,  she  had  borne  his  unkind ness  with  the  most  for- 
giving gentleness,  came  upon  his  mind;  and,  in  spite  of  him- 
self, the  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  Then  he  excused  himself 
by  saying  it  was  all  the  fault  of  that  intruder,  Walter:  and 
then  the  thought  occurred  that  he  already  owed  Seth  a  great 
deal  of  money,  who  was  his  best  friend,  and  he  ought  to 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  161 

serve  him;  and  perhaps  Hester  would  not  die,  after  all, — 
she  might  get  well,  and  change  her  mind  ;  and,  on  the  whole, 
he  concluded,  as  he  drove  up  to  the  doctor's  door,  that  he 
had  done  about  right. 

The  first  gleams  of  daylight  could  be  seen  streaking  the 
east  as  Dr.  Toler  and  Obed  entered  the  house.  Obed  hadn't 
the  courage  to  enter  the  sick-room;  but,  having  learned  that 
Hester  was  about  the  same  as  when  he  left,  he  sneaked  off 
to  his  own  room,  and  was  soon  asleep. 

The  doctor  examined  his  patient,  and  said  there  was  no 
immediate  danger;  but  she  had  evidently  received  a  shock 
from  which  she  would  not  recover  for  months.  She  had  a 
sort  of  delirious  or  brain  fever,  and  would  require  the  closest 
attention  and  care.  The  good  man  staid  with  the  grief- 
stricken  parents  till  after  sunrise ;  and,  word  of  Hester's  un- 
happy condition  having  been  sent  to  the  neighbors,  several  of 
those  mature  women  who  were  famous  for  their  services 
when  people  first  came  into  the  world,  and  for  disposing  them 
decently  when  they  left  it,  had  come  to  render  assistance. 
Among  the  first  of  those  who  came  to  give  their  aid  and 
sympathy  was  Mrs.  Gomery.  She  entered  the  house  as  if  it 
were  her  own ;  and  even  Mrs.  Homer  shrank  back  abashed 
before  her,  perhaps  thinking  of  the  rebuff  she  had  received 
when  she  ventured  to  suggest  that  her  vicious  son  had  been 
taken  and  mistaken  by  her  for  a  Gomery.  She  entered 
Hester's  room  without  invitation ;  and  her  mother  saw  with 
relief  and  satisfaction  that  she  recognized  her,  called  her  by 
name,  and  spoke  endearingly  to  her,  while  all  the  rest, 
including  her  father  and  mother,  appeared  to  her  as 
strangers. 

Mrs.  Gomery  staid  with  her  the  larger  part  of  the  day; 
but  as  there  was  no  immediate  danger,  and  she  had  been 
advised  that  her  son  Wirtimir  would  probably  arrive  that 
night,  she  left  for  home,  promising  to  come  the  next  day. 
It  was  after  a  day  like  this  that  she  welcomed  the  son,  whom, 
for  five  years,  she  had  not  seen. 

After  supper,  the  young  Master  Freeborn,  who  was  now 
making  his  first  visit  to  his  grandparents,  was  despatched, 
very  tired  and  sleepy,  to  bed.  The  conversation  that  ensued 
during  the  long  evening  can  be  pretty  well  imagined  by  the 
reader,  from  his  knowledge  of  the  family  affairs.  Wirtimir 
had  come  on  with  the  idea,  that,  after  all,  it  would  be  best 

14* 


162  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

for  the  old  people  to  give  up  the  Pivot,  and  move  away,  so 
that  they  could  be  nearer  their  children.  He  said  they  had 
all  conferred  together  on  the  subject,  except  Walter;  and 
he  was  of  small  account,  besides  being  a  poor  wanderer, 
nobody  knew  where;  and  they  had  agreed  to  buy  any  city 
or  suburban  place  that  might  please  them  in  or  near  either 
New  York  or  Philadelphia,  so  that  they  could  see  each  other 
every  day  if  they  liked.  But  neither  the  squire  nor  his  wife 
would  listen  to  this  suggestion  for  a  moment.  They  wisely  said 
they  were  too  old  to  get  accustomed  to  a  new  place ;  that, 
however  good  people  they  might  find  their  new  acquaintances, 
there  could  not  be  the  same  identity  of  interests,  sympathies, 
and  feelings,  as  with  those  among  whom  they  had  spent  so 
many  years,  —  those  little  incidents  of  social  life  that  make 
up  the  pleasures  of  the  old  would  be  wanting;  that,  at  Mont- 
gomery, they  knew  everybody,  and  everybody  knew  them; 
and,  if  ever  a  neighbor  called  on  them,  they  would  be  inter- 
ested in  all  he  had  to  say ;  if  his  child  was  sick,  they  could 
condole  with  him ;  if  his  cow  was  lost,  or  his  horse  had  got 
lamed,  they  could  do  the  same?  But,  in  a  new  place,  they 
could  feel  little  interest  in  such  affairs ;  and  few  or  none  would 
come  to  them  for  advice  or  condolence.  As  they  were,  they 
could  share,  to  some  extent,  the  enjoyments  of  the  younger 
people ;  and  though  they  had  experienced  much  ingratitude 
in  their  misfortunes,  that  pierced  them  to  the  quick,  yet,  on 
the  other  hand,  they  had  received  much  genuine  sympathy, 
which  they  could  never  have  known  in  prosperous  times; 
and  Mrs.  Gomery  spunkily  remarked,  that  true  friends  she 
would  not  pain,  nor  false  ones  gratify,  by  going  away. 

The  next  morning,  they  were  all  up  betimes;  and,  while  the 
breakfast  was  preparing,  the  old  squire,  Wirt,  and  young 
Freeborn,  were  out  looking  at  the  farm,  the  cattle,  horses,  and 
hogs.  The  apple-trees  in  the  orchard  were  now  loaded  with 
fruit  that  "burned  among  the  withered  leaves;"  and  the 
"  good  trees  "  were  pointed  out  to  the  delighted  Freeborn. 

In  looking  over  the  place,  recalling  to  mind  the  events 
of  his  boyhood,  and  surveying  its  scenes,  Wirt  could  not 
wonder  at  his  parents'  unwillingness  to  leave  the  Pivot. 
It  was  a  beautiful  place,  having  a  commanding  view  of  all 
the  surrounding  country,  save  that  to  the  south-west :  the 
hill  that  overshadowed  the  Pivot,  on  which  still  stood  the 
old  house  built  by  his  grandfather,  cut  off  the  prospect  in 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  163 

that  direction.  The  situation  of  the  old  house,  or  "  Perch," 
was  the  finer  of  the  two ;  but  it  had  not  been  kept  in  repair 
like  the  house  at  the  Pivot,  and  the  fences  and  shrubbery 
were  falling  into  neglect.  This  was  now  the  property,  of 
Seth  Mettlar;  and  it  caused  a  pang  to  the  old  squire  whenever 
he  cast  his  eyes  towards  it. 

But  the  Pivot  was  in  complete  order.  The  house  and 
barns,  the  wood  and  carriage  houses,  the  carriages  and  farm- 
tools,  were  all  in  perfect  repair.  The  house,  in  its  internal 
arrangement,  was  very  like  many  a  New-England  home. 
It  was  larger  and  more  pretentious  than  any  other  in  the 
vicinity;  but  it  had  the  same  characteristics  of  plainness, 
comfort,  and  convenience.  The  rooms  were  large  and  airy ; 
andr  plain  as  was  the  furniture,  it  was  solid,  durable,  and 
expensive.  The  large,  high  bedsteads  of  mahogany,  oak,  or 
bird's-eye  maple,  were  furnished  with  well-rounded  ticks  of 
live-geese  feathers,  overspread  with  linen  white  as  the  newly 
drifted  snow,  and  blankets  of  fine  merino  wool ;  and  there 
were  spare  beds  for  many  guests.  Hospitality  was  a  virtue 
of  the  Gomerys ;  and  many  a  customer  had  little  Diller  lost 
by  it. 

The  breakfast  is  waiting ;  and,  until  the  tour  of  the  in- 
spection of  the  premises  has  been  completed,  Mrs.  Gomery 
takes  her  place  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  falls  to  musing. 
She  thinks  of  the  changes  in  Wirt's  appearance  since  she  last 
saw  him.  He  was  the  largest  and  finest-looking  of  her  sons, 
and  now,  just  in  the  prime  of  life,  was  as  fine  a  specimen  of 
the  physical  man  as  ever  New  England  produced.  He  was 
just  six  feet  one  and  a  half,  and  with  a  form  faultlessly  sym- 
metrical. He  had  the  manly,  wholesome  cast  of  his  father, 
somewhat  tempered  and  softened  by  the  graceful  lines  of 
beauty  which  he  had  inherited  from  his  mother.  With  a 
feeling  of  intense  pride,  his  mother  now  contrasted  him  in 
her  mind  with  the  other  men  of  his  age  whom  she  knew; 
and  she  remembered  and  was  confirmed  in  her  former  im- 
pressions, that  the  children  of  Freeborn  Gomery  were  not 
as  the  children  of  other  men.  There  was  something  so  noble 
and  grand  about  him,  that  it  seemed  not  for  one  generation 
alone,  but  to  have  the  power  of  self-perpetuation.  During 
her  revery,  many  incidents  of  her  early  wifehood  occurred 
to  her;  and,  the  memory  of  the  "great  baby  ball"  recurring 
to  her  mind,  she  smiled  as  she  thought  of  its  ludicrous  scenes, 


164  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

and  of  the  part  that  the  infant  Walter  bore  in  them.  This, 
again,  recalled  her  thoughts  to  her  poor  wandering  boy, 
whom,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she  loved  above  all  her  chil- 
dren;  and  the  tears  were  just  rising  to  her  eyes,  when  she 
heard  the  outer  door  open,  and  the  voice  of  her  husband 
calling  to  his  grandson  to  come  in  to  breakfast.  She  roused 
herself  from  her  revery,  forced  back  the  tears,  and  was  ready 
for  the  matutinal  duties  of  the  table. 

The  breakfast  was  but  about  half  over  when  the  serving- 
maid  said  that  Mr.  Diller  was  at  the  door. 

"  Show  him  in  here,"  said  the  squire ;  and  directly,  and 
before  he  could  get  into  the  room,  the  little  man's  voice  was 
heard  in  the  entry- way,  — 

"  Well,  well,  square  !  what  do  you  think  now  ?  That  thief, 
that  rascal,  that  forger,  is  going —  Oh  !  how  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Wirt?  excuse  me,  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Good-morning, 
ma'am.  That  woodchuck,  that  musquash,  that  skunk,  is  goin' 
to  build  another  tavern  just  to  ruin  me,  and  take  off  the  cus- 
tom from  my  house.  But  he  will  find  it  a  losin'  business,  I 
can  tell  him ;  for  I  will  cut  down  prices,  and  I'll  keep  folks 
for  nothin',  sooner  than  have  that  rascal  get  their  custom." 

"  Why,  what  is  all  this  you  are  talking  about  ?  "  said  the 
squire. 

"  What !  you  hain't  heard  the  news  ?  Well,  then,  I'll  tell 
ye.  This  thief  Mettlar,  that  stole  all  your  property,  has  been 
stopping  at  my  house ;  and  just  because  I  gin  him  now  and 
then  a  piece  of  my  mind,  and  said  he  ought  to  be  in  the  State 
Prison,  he  said  he'd  forgive  me,  and  then  went  to  work  to 
ruin  me.  He  gives  the  vacant  lot  between  Gibbs's  store  and 
Kidder's  shoe-shop,  just  opposite  my  tavern,  and  is  goin'  to 
run  up  a  three  or  four  story  brick  house  that  will  knock  the 
Eagle  all  to  flinders.  I  won't  stand  it,  square;  I  won't,  I 
won't ;  and  so  I  won't ! " 

"But  how  can  you  help  yourself?  He  has  ten  times  the 
money  that  you  have ;  and  suppose  you  run  opposition, 
what  will  you  make  by  it?  It  is  probably  just  what  he 
would  like.  After  you  have  spent  all  you  have  ever  saved 
by  keeping  the  Eagle,  you  can  go  upon  the  town ;  and  then 
you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  must  pay 
taxes  for  your  support." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  He  is  bound  to  ruin  my  house, 
and  spile  my  business." 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  165 

"Haven't  you  kept  tavern  long  enough  to  afford  to  quit?" 
asked  Wirtimir.  "  You  were  keeping  the  Eagle  as  long  ago 
as  I  can  remember.  You  must  have  something  pretty  hand- 
some laid  up  by  this  time." 

"  Yes :  I  suppose,  if  I  could  sell  out  my  place  for  what  it  is 
worth,  I  should  have  enough  to  do  me  and  the  old  woman." 

"  What ,  do  you  call  your  property  worth ;  that  is,  the 
house,  land,  and  stables,  —  in  fact,  all  but  the  furniture  ?  " 

"  I  have  offered  to  sell  for  three  thousand  dollars." 

"I  will  give  you  twenty-eight  hundred  dollars,  and  six 
months'  time  to  close  up  your  business,  rent  free." 

"  You  will  ?    It's  a  bargain." 

"  Yes ;  but  there  is  one  condition  I  must  make.  You  shall 
say  nothing  about  it  till  the  new  house  is  well  along,  —  till 
you  are  about  leaving  the  Eagle.  Then  just  take  your  mon- 
ey, buy  a  small  place,  live  at  your  ease,  and  talk  with  every- 
body." 

"  I'll  do  it.  It's  just  what  me  and  the  old  woman  has  been 
wantin'  to  do  for  a  long  time." 

So  it  was  agreed  that  Wirtimir  should  buy  the  old  Eagle- 
Hotel  property ;  that  his  father  should  make  out  the  deed 
that  day,  and  he  would  send  on  the  money  to  pay  for  it  im- 
mediately on  his  return  home.  Diller,  it  was  understood, 
was  to  keep  on  in  the  hotel  as  usual  till  the  new  one  was 
well  advanced ;  and  then  the  old  house  should  be  pulled  down 
to  make  way  for  a  block  of  brick  stores,  and  Diller  should 
have  the  superintendence  of  their  building  under  the  old 
squire,  and  be  paid  a  regular  commission  for  his  services. 

The  little  landlord  returned  home  in  high  glee ;  and,  enter- 
ing his  house,  he  there  met  Seth  Mettlar  and  several  of  his 
admirers  waiting  the  landlord's  return  to  serve  them  with 
some  of  his  newly  worked  cider,  which  had  been  tapped  the 
day  before. 

Entering  behind  the  bar,  the  little  man  mounted  the  small 
platform,  which,  for  thirty  years,  had  been  his  rostrum  for  dis- 
pensing grog,  and,  launching  forth  his  opinions,  said,  "Mr. 
Mettlar,  you  can't  have  any  cider  at  this  house." 

"  How  ?  Why  is  this  ?  "  spoke  up  several.  "  What  does 
this  mean  ?  " 

"It  means  that  this  house  is  no  place  for  rascals  and 
thieves ;  and  I  don't  want  none  of  their  custom.  So,  Mr. 
Setli  Mettlar,  you  will  just  put  your  mean  carcase  outside  of 
my  door,  and  never  enter  it  again,  if  you  please." 


166  GOMEEY    OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

Seth  and  his  friends  were  so  astonished  at  this  outbreak  of 
the  fiery  little  Boniface,  that  they  could  answer  never  a  word ; 
and  they  all  left  the  house,  Seth  taking  the  lead. 

This  last  act  of  aggression  and  insult  on  the  part  of  Diller 
greatly  scandalized  the  friends  of  the  meek  and  forgiving 
Mettlar ;  and  a  meeting  of  the  directors  of  the  new  hotel 
was  held  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  and  measures  were 
taken  to  commence  the  work  immediately.  The  next  day, 
men  were  set  to  work  to  dig  the  cellar,  and  the  contracts 
were  made  for  the  bricks  and  lumber  for  the  house;  and  the 
master-builder,  who  had  already  made  his  plans,  was  duly  en- 
gaged to  superintend  the  work. 

Little  Diller  took  great  interest  in  the  new  hotel.  He 
would  stand  in  his  own  door,  and  talk  to  the  workmen,  telling 
them  they  were  doing  the  Devil's  work.  His  sharp,  piping 
voice  could  be  heard  a  dozen  times  a  day  foretelling  all  sorts 
of  disaster  to  the  shareholders,  and  threatening  to  run  an 
opposition  which  should  render  their  investment  a  dead  loss. 
He  indulged  his  vagrant  tongue  without  restraint  or  remorse 
in  denunciation  of  Seth,  and  the  silly  dupes  who  had  been 
foolish  enough  to  think  they  could  run  an  opposition  to  the 
Eagle,  and  make  money  by  it.  Indeed,  he  was  a  thorn  in 
the  flesh  of  them  all ;  and  the  foundation  was  not  fairly  laid 
before  the  most  of  Seth's  co-workers  wished  both  him  and 
his  hotel  to  the  Devil. 

When  the  work  was  fairly  begun,  and  the  contracts  made 
for  all  the  different  parts  both  of  the  house  and  stables,  Seth 
informed  his  loving  friends  that  business  would  require  his 
attendance  in  Boston,  and  that  he  should  be  absent  for  a  few 
months.  In  view  of  this  afflicting  necessity,  he  sent  a  well- 
expressed  note  to  the  new  minister,  Parson  Skeelman,of  the 
All-Saints  Church,  requesting  that  he  might  have  the  prayers 
of  the  congregation  in  his  behalf  under  the  sad  dispensation 
that  called  him  to  part  with  so  many  beloved  brothers  and 
sisters. 

Parson  Skeelman  was  a  most  worthy  man.  His  parish- 
ioners said  he  was  neither  so  sound  in  doctrine  nor  so  strong 
in  argument  as  his  predecessor,  Elder  Millson;  but  he  was  a 
man  of  peace,  and  intended  to  be  a  strict  follower  of  him 
he  professed  to  serve.  He  believed  Seth  to  be  a  knave  and 
a  hypocrite ;  and,  if  left  to  himself,  he  would  have  avoided 
mentioning  his  name,  except  in  condemnation ;  and,  instead 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  167 

of  praying  that  he  might  prosper  in  his  courses,  he  would 
have  prayed  that  he  might  turn  from  his  life  of  hypocrisy  and 
sin,  and  restore  his  ill-gotten  gains  to  their  rightful  owners. 
But  this  would  breed  a  schism  in  the  church ;  and  the  good 
man  could  not  bear  that.  There  was  no  element  of  discord 
or  strife  in  his  nature ;  and  he  told  one  of  his  deacons,  when 
Seth  was  taken  into  the  church,  that  he  feared  he  would 
prove  a  Trojan  horse.  In  his  present  perplexity,  he  called 
on  the  same  deacon  and  another  leading  member  for  advice ; 
and  they  asked  him  censoriously,  if  he  had  the  interests  of 
the  church  no  more  at  heart  than  to  think  of  offending,  and 
perhaps  driving  from  them,  the  man  who,  above  all  others, 
could  and  would  do  most  to  build  up  Zion.  They  even 
hinted  to  the  good  man  that  he  must  be  tainted  with  free- 
thinking  and  infidelity  if  he  did  not  see  a  special  providence 
in  the  misfortunes  that  had  fallen  onGomery  of  Montgomery, 
who  was  worse  than  an  infidel  (for  he  professed  Christianity 
while  he  denied  its  fundamental  doctrines),  and  in  giving 
his  property  to  one  of  the  elect. 

The  poor  parson  could#not  contend.  It  was  not  possible 
for  him  to  hold  his  own  in  controversy ;  and,  the  next  day 
being  Sunday,  he  read  the  request  of  the  woe-begone  Seth, 
and  made  a  somewhat  ambiguous  prayer,  beseeching  the 
throne  of  grace-  that  their  departing  brother  might  return 
to  them  strengthened  in  faith,  and,  by  good  works,  be  a 
bright  and  shining  proof  of  the  divine  power  and  grace. 
Many  were  deeply  moved  at  the  words  of  the  good  pastor; 
and  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  among  all  the  shareholders  in 
the  new  hotel.  As  for  Seth,  he  covered  his  face,  like  the 
wife  of  Bath,  to  hide  the  tears  he  did  not  shed. 

The  work  on  the  new  hotel  was  pushed  ahead  with  great 
activity ;  and  on  Seth's  return,  some  four  or  five  months 
later,  it  was  nearly  finished.  He  returned  to  be  present  at 
the  opening,  which  was  to  be  a  great  event  in  the  town,  — 
in  fact,  Montgomery  was  famous  for  great  events, —  and  to 
witness  the  dismay  and  discomfiture  of  Diller,  and  the  tri- 
umph and  reward  of  himself  and  virtue.  But  what  was  his 
astonishment  on  his  arrival  to  learn  that  that  bumptious  and 
irascible  little  man  was  preparing  to  rebuild,  or  at  least  to 
greatly  repair  and  enlarge,  his  house !  for  he  had  just  moved 
out  of  it,  and  taken  with  him  the  best  part  of  his  furniture, 
and  sold  the  rest  at  auction. 


168  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

Under  these  circumstances,  gnly  a  nominal  rent  could  be 
got  for  the  new  hotel ;  and  some  of  the  shareholders  were 
even  now,  before  the  house  was  opened,  offering  to  sell  out 
at  a  loss.  Seth  cared  little  for  that,  however,  if  he  could 
only  punish  the  pugnacious  Diller,  and  show  the  world  that 
he  bore  a  heavy  hand  that  was  powerful  to  destroy.  The 
house  might  pay  rent  big  or  little ;  but  people  must  learn 
that  he  was  the  man  of  power  in  the  place,  and  that  they 
would  show  him  any  want  of  respect  or  deference  at  their 
peril. 

The  good  man's  plan  for  effecting  this  consummation  worked 
badly ;  for,  the  next  week,  men  were  set  to  work  by  Diller  to 
tear  down  the  old  house  which  had  so  long  been  a  land- 
mark for  travellers.  The  Eagle  Hotel,  under  Diner's  manage- 
ment, had  long  been  a  credit  to  the  place;  and  people  saw 
with  regret  the  relentless  hand  of  improvement  engaged  in 
its  destruction.  As  for  Diller  and  his  wife,  they  would  not 
stay  to  witness  it ;  but,  before  the  work  of  demolition  be- 
gan, they  started  off  to  visit  some  relatives  living  some  thirty 
miles  distant,  and  did  not  come  back  till  it  was  razed  to  the 
ground.  Before  his  return,  Seth  had  the  further  consolation 
of  knowing  that  he  did  not  intend  to  rebuild  his  house, 
and  that,  therefore,  the  new  hotel  had  been  leased  for 
five  years  for  one-fifth  the  rent  it  would  readily  command. 
Instead  of  rebuilding  the  Eagle,  Diller  now  told  everybody 
he  was  going  to  put  up  a  row  of  brick  stores ;  and  it  was 
soon  known  that  he  had  made  a  contract  to  that  effect  with 
a  master-builder,  and  advanced  one-half  the  money  to  pay 
the  cost  of  them,  the  other  half  to  be  paid  on  the  completion 
of  the  building. 

Seth  groaned  in  spirit  at  these  signs  of  Diller's  prosperity; 
and,  on  meeting  with  Parson  Skeelman,  he  told  him,  that 
notwithstanding  all  he  had  done  for  that  people,  and  espe- 
cially the  church,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  appreciated  as  he 
ought  to  be,  and  that  his  trials  and  sorrows  were  heavy,  and 
grievous  to  be  borne.  He  therefore  hoped,  that,  for  his  spe- 
cial edification  and  consolation,  he  would,  on  the  next  Sunday, 
preach  from  the  words,  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth,  him  he 
chasteneth."  The  good  parson — he  was  a  good  man,  if 
ever  there  lived  one ;  I  knew  him  well  —  saw  that  Seth  was 
afflicted  at  the  impotence  of  his  own  malice  ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, he  promised  compliance,  and,  without  consulting  any 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  169 

one,  prepared  a  sermon  which  was  very  different  from  what 
Seth  had  wanted.  Inclined  as  he  was  to  peace,  he  felt  it 
would  be  sinful  and  cowardly  not  to  rebuke  such  hypocrisy 
and  malice;  and  he  nerved  himself  to  the  work.  He  began 
by  citing  Job  —  "a  perfect  and  upright  man,  one  that  feared 
God,  and  eschewed  evil "  —  as  an  illustration  of  the  text ; 
and  after  dwelling  at  length  on  the  Lord's  dealings  with 
him,  and  drawing  therefrom  the  moral  that  men  should  first 
do  their  duty  in  all  things,  and  then,  like  Job,  trust  in  entire 
confidence  in  the  Lord,  he  said  that  he  could  illustrate  his 
idea  further  by  an  illustration  of  their  own  times,  and  from 
their  own  neighborhood.  Seth's  eye  brightened  at  this ;  and 
he  stealthily  looked  around  to  see  if  people  were  not  all 
looking  towards  him  as  the  modern  Job.  But  his  pride  and 
vanity  were  destined  to  a  speedy  fall.  The  familiar  illus- 
tration was  not  himself,  but  Gomery  of  Montgomery.  Many 
others  besides  Seth  were  startled  at  the  allusion  to  a  man, 
who  was  not  of  their  own  faith,  as  one  whom  the  Lord  loved. 
It  had  been  the  fashion  and  cant  of  this  church  to  speak  of 
Gomery's  misfortunes  as  a  punishment  for  his  unbelief.  "  But 
here,"  said  the  bold  parson,  "  is  a  man  living  among  us  whom 
we  all  feel  and  think  to  be  in  error;  who  in  faith  and  doc- 
trine is  not  with  us,  nor  of  us;  and  whose  creed  is  the 
device  of  the  enemy  of  souls :  and  yet  what  a  rebuke  are  the 
ways  of  this  man  to  many  of  those  here  before  me  who  have 
been  born  into  the  new  life !  His  voice  is  ever  cheerful,  and 
his  face  ever  serene ;  for  all  he  has  a  kind  word,  and  to  the  poor 
his  hand  is  always  open.  He  never  repines  at  his  lot;  his 
heart  never  frets  against  the  Lord.  He  returns  not  railing 
for  railing,  nor  treasures  up  the  memory  of  ingratitude.  Nay, 
outwardly,  during  a  long  life,  not  even  his  bitterest  enemy 
can  deny,  but  that,  like  Job,  he  has  not  sinned,  nor  charged 
God  foolishly.  And,  if  the  righteous  scarcely  be  saved,  how 
shall  the  ungodly  and  sinner  appear  ?  If  he  is  to  be  cut  off, 
how  shall  it  fare  with  you  who  are  given  to  slander  and 
envy,  and  all  manner  of  uncharitableness  ?  Faith  without 
works  is  dead.  Hotv,  then,  do  ye  expect  to  enter  the  king- 
dom of  the  blessed,  when  your  religion  is  but  a  cloak  to  sin, 
and  your  lives  an  insult  to  the  blessed  Saviour  whom  ye  pro- 
fess to  serve?" 

The  boldness  of  this  onslaught  on  the  members  of  the 
church  for  a  time  disarmed  criticism.    People  felt  its  just- 

VOL.  II.  15 


170  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

ness,  and  were  rebuked ;  and  Seth  saw  that  he  had  gone  too 
far  in  trying  to  make  the  whole  church  a  party  to  his  own 
malice.  He  was  greatly  comforted,  however,  soon  after,  on 
learning  that  Diller  was  not  acting  on  his  own  account,  but 
as  the  agent  of  Wirt  Gomery ;  for,  much  as  he  disliked  the 
Gomerys,  little  Diller  had  been  such  a  constant  annoyance 
to  him,  that  he  both  feared  and  hated  him  above  all  the 
world  besides.  In  time,  however,  he  so  far  rallied  the  mem- 
bers of  the  church,  that  Parson  Skeelman  was  arraigned  for 
the  obnoxious  sermon  of  six  months  before.  But  other 
events  are  now  culminating  fast;  and  perhaps,  before  the 
good  parson  is  offered  up  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  vindictive  ma- 
lignity of  Seth  Mettlar,  something  may  occur  to  avert  his 
punishment. 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  171 


CHAPTER   XII. 


"  The  bridegroom's  doors  are  opened  wide, 
And  I  am  next  of  kin ; 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set : 
Mayst  hear  the  merry  din."  —  Coleridge. 

The  days  and  months  go  by,  the  winter  has  passed,  and 
the  summer  has  come ;  but  no  word  of  cheer  has  reached  the 
house  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery.  No  word  from  Walter 
comes  to  gladden  his  mother's  heart ;  and  age,  which  she  has 
so  long  defied,  is  beginning  to  tell  on  her  form  and  features. 
The  old  squire,  too,  is  no  longer  the  man  of  former  times. 
He  still  bears  a  stout  heart  in  his  intercourse  with  the  world ; 
but  his  restless  eye  and  abstracted  manner  still  show  that 
grief  is  doing  its  work.  The  sympathy  and  attentions  of 
friends  seem  no  longer  welcome :  a  great  sorrow  that  none 
but  themselves  can  comprehend  has  made  a  great  gulf  be- 
tween them  and  their  neighbors.  People  feel  that  their 
condolences  are  but  a  mockery  of  woe,  and  keep  aloof.  The 
Pivot  is  isolated  from  the  village,  and  is  regarded  with  a  sort 
of  sacred  awe.  Friends  and  enemies  alike  respect  the  grief 
that  now  reigns  there. 

Except  Seth  Mettlar.  The  clouds  and  darkness  that  are 
settling  on  the  heads  of  Gomery  and  his  wife  in  their  declin- 
ing years  are  welcome  to  this  night-bird  of  fortune.  While 
darkness  has  gathered  around  the  Pivot,  he  has  waxed  strong 
and  confident  in  his  prosperity  and  success.  He  is  to  be 
married  to  Hester  Homer ! 

When  Mrs.  Gomery  returned  to  the  house  of  Thomas  Ho- 
mer, the  second  day  after  her  interview  with  Hester  at  the 
Pivot,  she  entered  with  the  same  air  of  confidence  and  right 
as  on  the  day  before.  In  the  parlor  she  met  Homer,  who 
was  sitting  silent  and  sad,  the  very  picture  of  despair. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  said  she.   "  Hester  is  no  worse  ?  " 


172  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

The  poor  man  burst  into  tears,  and  left  the  room  ;  and,  at 
the  same  moment,  his  hopeful  son  Obed  limped  in,  with  an 
air  of  saucy  assurance  that  more  than  answered  her  ques- 
tion. 

"How  is  Hester?"  inquired  she,  with  a  look  in  which 
anxiety  and  contempt  were  strangely  blended. 

"  She  is  very  sick,"  said  Obed,  approaching  the  fire,  and 
seizing  the  tongs,  but  not  venturing  to  raise  his  eyes. 

"Poor  child!  I  will  go  and  see  her,"  said  she,  moving 
towards  the  door  that  led  to  her  room. 

"  She  is  not  able  to  see  any  one  to-day,"  said  he,  as,  with  a 
hop,  skip,  and  a  jump,  he  sprang  between  her  and  the  door. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  the  indignant  woman :  "  can't  see 
me !  She  will,  I  think ; "  and  she  brushed  past  the  cowed 
wretch,  who  shrank  back  beneath  her  indignant  glance,  and 
rudely  opened  the  door.  At  the  same  moment,  she  con- 
fronted the  mother  of  Hester,  who,  with  finger  to  her  lip, 
motioned  silence,  and  said,  "  Hush !  Hester  can  see  nobody." 

"  Not  see  me ! " 

"  She  must  have  quiet.  We  are  very  anxious  about  her ; 
and  we  all  think  it  best  she  shall  see  no  company  at  pres- 
ent." 

"  I  must  and  I  will  see  her !  She  is  mine,  my  child,  the 
plighted  wife  of  my  boy,  and  I  will  see  her ! " 

Obed,  who  by  this  time  had  rallied,  now  stepped  up,  and 
said,  "  Mrs.  Gomery,  this  is  not  your  house  ;  and  you  cannot 
see  my  sister.  We  all  think  she  will  be  be  better  without 
your  visits." 

Bewildered  and  astonished,  Mrs.  Gomery  cast  her  eyes 
through  the  door,  and  towards  the  stairs  that  led  to  Hes- 
ter's room,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  head  and  spectacles 
of  Seth  Mettlar,  at  the  instant  they  bobbed  back  to  escape 
her  glance.  At  once  she  comprehended  the  whole  plot,  — 
that  it  had  been  arranged  that  she  should  not  see  Hester; 
and  proud  woman  that  she  was,  and  accustomed  to  have 
her  own  will  and  way,  she  now  saw  she  could  only  submit. 
For  an  instant,  fierce  anger  lit  up  her  face ;  then  tears  rose  to 
her  eyes ;  and,  raising  her  handkerchief  to  her  face,  she  sobbed 
aloud,  turned,  and  left  the  house. 

More  sad  and  despondent  than  she  had  ever  been,  Mrs. 
Gomery  fook  the  trail  back  to  the  Pivot  that  had  been  worn 
by  the  dear  feet  of  her  lost  Walter.     Though  it  was  broad 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  173 

day,  yet  she  could  hardly  see  the  path  ;  and  crushed,  helpless, 
and  well-nigh  heart-broken,  she  slowly  retraced  her  steps 
across  the  fields,  and  through  the  belt  of  woods  between  the 
ungrateful  threshold  and  her  own  house.  Her  only  wish 
was  that  Walter  would  return ;  and  then,  she  doubted  not, 
some  means  would  be  found  to  free  Hester  from  the  con- 
straint that  had  been  put  upon  her.  Of  course,  she  was  no 
party  to  the  insult  that  had  been  offered  her :  but  Mrs.  Gom- 
ery  knew  full  well  how  yielding  and  gentle  she  was  in  her 
disposition ;  how  she  had  borne  without  complaint,  for  her 
life  long,  the  tyranny  of  her  morose,  exacting  brother,  and 
would,  to  draw  the  least  expression  of  kindness  from  him, 
concede  any  cherished  pleasure  or  anticipated  enjoyment. 
She  might  die.  "  Ah,  well ! "  she  thought :  "  there  might  be 
a  worse  fate  than  that.  To  die,  —  why,  all  must  die :  but  to 
be  driven  to  a  living  death ;  to  be  the  compelled  wife  of  Seth 
Mettlar,  a  repulsive,  crawling  reptile,  whose  very  sight  is 
enough  to  make  the  blood  curdle  and  the  flesh  creep,  —  it  is 
a  refinement  of  torture ;  and  it  will  kill  poor  Hester,  and  the 
sooner  the  better." 

After  this,  Mrs.  Gomery  went  out  less  than  ever.  The  old 
squire  used  to  move  about  as  usual  among  people;  but  it 
was  clear  to  all  that  something  else  had  affected  him  more  se- 
riously than  the  loss  of  his  property.  No  one  could  see,  when 
that  was  first  taken  from  him,  that  he  was  affected  by  it  in 
the  least;  for  his  jokes  were  as  piquant,  his  face  as  cheerful, 
and  his  voice  and  laugh  as  loud  and  sonorous,  as  ever.  But 
now,  though  he  never  complained,  it  was  evident  that  deep 
sorrow  was  gnawing  at  his  heart-strings.  Seth  Mettlar  heard 
these  rumors,  and  chuckled  with  delight.  Hester  Homer 
too,  it  was  said,  had  recovered  from  her  sickness,  and  was 
more  beautiful  than  ever  before.  Seth  was  now  a  constant 
visitor  at  the  house :  and  it  was  soon  announced  that  Hester 
and  her  mother,  and  the  reformed  and  affectionate  Obed- 
edom,  were  going  on  a  visit  to  Boston ;  and  the  latter  in- 
formed his  friends  that  their  object  was  to  make  the  neces- 
sary purchases  preliminary  to  his  sister's  wedding.  Seth  was 
to  follow  soon  after,  and,  as  soon  as  he  could,  make  his  ar- 
rangements for  building  a  new  house  on  the  site  of  his  cot- 
tage, which  was  to  be  finer  than  any  thing  ever  seen  in  Mont- 
gomery. 

Some  people  said  that  Hester  Homer  was  greatly  changed 

15* 


174  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

from  her  former  self.  Her  old  schoolmates  said  she  did  not 
seem  to  be  the  same  person.  She  had  always  been  a  great 
favorite  among  the  young  girls  of  the  village ;  for  combined 
with  her  gentleness  of  disposition  were  great  vivacity,  and 
the  faculty  of  throwing  herself  into  the  sports  of  youth,  so 
as  to  make  all  lively  and  cheerful  around  her.  But  the  few 
that  saw  her  now  said  she  never  talked  to  them  of  her  vil- 
lage companions ;  never  made  any  allusion  to  those  town 
affairs  that  make  up  the  senseless  chatter  of  village  school- 
girls ;  but  she  talked  of  the  fine  things  she  was  to  have,  — 
the  fine  house,  the  rich  furniture,  and  handsome  carriage. 
But  she  never  laughed  or  smiled  as  in  former  days,  and  never 
seemed  to  care  for  any  of  those  things  in  which  she  once 
took  an  interest. 

Thomas  Homer  saw  the  changes  going  on  in  his  own 
household  with  great  sorrow.  But  he  was  past  the  power 
of  resistance.  His  thankless  ingrate  of  a  son  had  attained  a 
complete  control  over  him.  He  one  day  met  Gomery  of 
Montgomery,  and  detained  him  to  assure  him  that  he  had  no 
hand  or  part  in  the  acts  of  his  family. 

"  I  know  that  full  well,"  said  Gomery. 

"It  can  only  end  in  shame  and  sorrow,"  continued  Homer; 
"  and  I  wish  I  were  dead,  so  as  not  to  witness  the  end  of  it." 

Seth,  having  made  his  arrangements  to  have  his  house  fin- 
ished in  the  autumn,  followed  the  Homers  to  Boston,  where 
he  was  warmly  congratulated  on  his  great  good  fortune.  He 
was  now  exultant  in  his  pride ;  and,  in  company  with  his 
betrothed,  he  paraded  daily  up  and  down  the  most  frequented 
streets  of  Boston,  that  his  old  acquaintances  might  see,  won- 
der, and  admire.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Hester  created 
the  great  impression  of  which  Deacon  Giles  spoke  in  his  long 
eulogium  on  Seth  Mettlar,  given  at  the  city  tavern  for  the 
purpose  of  confounding  Joe  Pump  agin. 

The  summer  months  are  past,  and  the  Indian  summer  of 
autumn  has  given  way  to  the  frosty  nights  of  November. 
The  forest-leaves,  yellow  and  red,  are  fast  falling  before  the 
rustling  winds,  that  go  sighing  among  the  trees,  as  it  were, 
wailing  at  their  own  havoc.  The  farmer  is  busy  gathering 
in  his  latest  crops.  The  boys  shiver  at  their  work  in  the 
potato-field ;  and  the  girls  are  busy  in  peeling  and  cutting 
apples  for  drying,  from  the  sales  of  which  are  to  come  their 
side-combs,  ribbons,  and  new  school-books.     The  creaking 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  175 

of  the  cider-mill  can  be  heard  early  and  late ;  and  corn- 
huskings  and  apple-bees  are  the  diversions  of  the  season. 
The  cattle,  as  night  approaches,  gather  round  the  barn,  and 
stand  curled  up  and  shivering  under  the  lea  wall.  The  milch- 
cows  contract  their  udders,  and  give  less  milk ;  and  the  hens 
refuse  their  eggs.  But  the  first  snow  has  not  yet  fallen ;  and 
the  frost,  as  yet,  has  only  been  sufficient  to  kill  the  vines 
and  potato-tops. 

At  this  season,  the  roads  are  in  fine  condition ;  and  the 
tradesmen  are  getting  in  their  stocks  of  dry-goods  and  gro- 
ceries for  the  winter.  But,  besides  the  teams  loaded  with 
goods  for  the  village-stores,  several  come  to  Montgomery 
with  household  furniture  of  rich  and  expensive  quality  and 
pattern.  These  all  go  straight  to  the  scarcely  finished  house 
of  Seth  Mettlar,  where  a  Boston  upholsterer  is  engaged  in 
arranging  and  disposing  every  thing  according  to  the  taste 
of  the  times.  Every  thing  is  prepared  for  the  grand  wed- 
ding. It  is  arranged  that  it  shall  take  place  at  the  house 
of  the  bride's  father;  that  the  happy  pair  shall  adjourn  to 
their  own  elegant  mansion  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  that  a  grand 
entertainment  shall  be  given  in  the  evening,  which  shall 
combine  the  double  purpose  of  a  house-warming  and  a  wed- 
ding-party. But  there  was  a  slight  derangement  in  carrying 
out  this  programme,  of  which  the  Gomerys,  of  course,  had 
the  credit,  probably  justly  so ;  for  it  is  certain,  that,  the  day 
before,  Squire  Gomery  was  seen  to  enter  the  house  of  Par- 
son Skeelman. 

It  was  taken  for  granted  that  the  good  minister,  to  whose 
teachings  both  Hester  and  her  mother  had  been  wont  to 
listen  ever  since  good  old  Elder  Millson  had  been  consigned 
to  the  churchyard,  would  officiate  on  this  interesting  occa- 
sion. This  had  been  assumed  as  a  matter  of  course ;  but  from 
some  inadvertence,  or  from  the  supposition  that  it  was  not 
necessary,  nothing  was  said  to  the  good  man  till  the  morn- 
ing of  the  wedding-day.  But  the  omission  was  thought  of 
early  in  the  morning;  and  it  was  arranged,  that,  about  an 
hour  before  the  appointed  time,  Obed  should  drive  up  in  his 
light  wagon,  and  bring  hirn  down  to  the  house.  The  hour 
appointed  for  the  ceremony  was  ten  o'clock;  and,  at  a  little 
past  nine,  the  brisk  little  turn-out  of  Obededom  Homer  drove 
through  the  village,  and  was  followed  by  many  eyes  till  it 
turned  up  at  the  parsonage.     Obed,  as  he  reined  up  to  the 


176  GOMERY   OF  MONTGOMERY*. 

house,  was  surprised  at  not  seeing  the  parson  at  his  doorway, 
dressed  in  his  Sunday's  best,  and  ready  to  accompany  him. 
There  was  nobody  in  sight  about  the  house ;  and  so  he  was 
obliged  to  get  out  of  his  carriage,-and  hitch  his  horse.  He 
then  limped  up  to  the  door,  and  knocked.  He  was  answered 
by  the  parson's  daughter,  a  girl  of  eight  or  nine  years. 

"  Is  your  father  in  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Yes,  sir:  he  is  in  his  room." 

"Tell  him  I  am  waiting  for  him." 

The  girl  ran  away  to  deliver  this  message,  and,  returning, 
said,  "Pa  says,  'Please  come  in.'" 

Obed  followed  his  guide  into  the  study  of  the  minister, 
and  found  him  sitting  by  his  table  in  his  morning-gown. 

"What!  not  ready  yet?"  said  Obededom.  "It  is  past 
nine  o'clock  ;  and  the  wedding  is  to  be  at  ten.  We  shall  be 
late  if  we  don't  hurry." 

"It  is  rather  a  short  notice,"  said  the  minister  calmly. 
"  However,  that  makes  no  difference :  I  shall  not  officiate  at 
your  sister's  wedding." 

"  Not  officiate !  Why,  what  does  this  mean  ?  You  must : 
we  can't  get  along  without  you.  Why,  Elder  Skeelman, you 
must  be  crazy !     What  will  folks  say  ?  " 

"  What  folks  may  say  it  matters  very  little ;  but  what 
my  conscience  says  is  very  important.  It  bears  a  great 
weight  of  guilt  already  for  allowing  this  thing  to  go  so  far 
without  protest  and  remonstrance ;  but  I  will  not  assist  at 
a  human  sacrifice." 

Obed  stood  confounded  and  dumfounded  by  the  words 
and  manner  of  the  minister ;  and,  at  first,  could  only  repeat 
the  word  "  Sacrifice." 

"Sacrifice,  I  say!"  continued  the  minister.  "Your  sister 
has  been  sacrificed  to  your  own  cruel  selfishness  and  malice. 
I  regard  you  as  the  most  unnatural  brother  I  ever  saw.  You 
must  see  that  the  result  of  this  union  will  be  a  protracted 
misery,  to  be  relieved  only  by  the  death  of  the  victim." 

Obed,  who  by  this  time  had  regained  his  wonted  assurance, 
could  contain  himself  no  longer,  but  broke  out,  "  Why,  you 
talk  like  an  old  fool !  You,  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  think 
there  is  nobody  but  them  miserable  infidels  of  the  Gomerys! 
But  we'll  let  you  know  that  Seth  Mettlar  can  just  give  ten 
rods  in  the  race,  and  yet  beat  any  Gomery  that  ever  rid  a 
horse."     With  this  outburst,  that  was  repented  of  as  soon  as 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  177 

uttered,  Obecl  turned  to  leave :  but  then  the  thought  oc- 
curred that  the  wedding  could  not  go  on  without  some  one 
to  perform  the  ceremony;  and  his  base  nature  changed  at 
once  from  defiance  to  supplication.  "  I  beg  pardon,"  said  he : 
"I  do,  indeed.  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me.  Now,  do  come! 
We  can't  get  along  without  you.  There's  nobody  else  we'd 
ever  think  of  having,  except  you.  Of  course,  we  can't  think 
of  getting  old  Squire  Gomery  for  this  job ;  and  my  mother 
would  never  think  of  having  that  heathen  infidel  of  a  preacher 
to  marry  her  daughter  that  the  Gomery  tribe  are  trying  to 
build  a  church  for.  And  then,  you  know,  Mr.  Mettlar 
couldn't  bear  that ;  "for  he  hates  them  infidels  as  bad  as  you 
do.  Come,  now ;  come  !  You  must  come ;  and  you  shall  be 
well  paid  for  it."         • 

"  You  have  had  my  answer,"  said  the  minister.  "  All  the 
money  ever  stolen  by  your  intended  brother-in-law  could  not 
induce  me  to  perform  this  ceremony." 

"You  old  cur!  you  shall  smart  for  this!"  said  Obed,  slam- 
ming the  door,  and  hobbling  out  of  the  house.  His  horse 
was  quickly  untied ;  and,  jumping  into  the  wagon,  he  drove 
rapidly  back  to  his  father's  house ;  the  people  staring  and 
wondering  at  seeing  him,  at  such  a  time,  drive  so  excitedly 
and  furiously  through  the  town. 

He  drove  rapidly  home ;  and  great  was  the  consternation 
caused  as  he  was  seen  to  drive  up  alone.  "  The  feast  was 
set,  the  guests  were  met ; "  and  all  was  ready  for  the  cere- 
mony as  soon  as  the  minister  should  arrive.  A  few  of  the 
more  intimate  and  favored  friends  of  the  family  were  to.  be 
present  at  the  marriage ;  while  the  great  multitude  of  ac- 
quaintances were  expected  at  the  house-warming  in  the 
evening. 

A  brief  conference  Was  held  between  Obed  and  Seth  ;  and 
the  latter  soon  returned  to  say  that  Mr.  Skeelman  could  not 
come,  and  therefore  the  ceremony  must  be  postponed  till 
Obed  could  ride  to  Tivernet,  and  bring  over  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Furbish. 

Three  hours  must  elapse  before  the  Tiverne*t  minister  could 
arrive ;  and  a  long  and  wearisome  three  hours  they  were. 
As  yet,  the  bride  had  not  been  seen ;  nor  did  she  show  her- 
self till  the  weary  hours  had  passed  away,  and  her  brother 
had  returned,  bringing  at  last  the  indispensable  parson.     No 


178  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

time  was  now  lost :  Hester  was  led  into  the  room  by  Seth ; 
and,  taking  their  places,  Elder  Furbish,  in  about  seven  min- 
utes by  the  watch,  pronounced  them  man  and  wife. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anybody  so  beautiful  as  Hester  was  ?  " 
said  Ann  Stickney  to  Maria  Carlton  as  they  stood  together 
eating  wedding-cake  after  the  ceremony  was  over. 

"  I  never  did,  Ann,"  replied  the  other.  "  Wasn't  that  a 
handsome  dress  ?  And  such  ear-rings  !  —  my  eyes  !  Miss 
Homer  told  mother  they  cost  two  hundred  dollars!" 

"  Tou  don't  say  !  But  didn't  she  act  queer  ?  I  never  seen 
a  woman  stand  up  to  be  married  in  that  way  before, — just 
as  though  she  didn't  care  any  thing  about  it.  Why,  when 
Lucy  Tuttle  was  married,  she  looked  as  though  she  was 
skeered  half  to  death.  But  Hester  sne  didn't  even  look  at 
the  minister,  but  kept  looking  out  of  the  window,  as  if  she 
was  thinking  of  something  else  ;  and  then,  when  the  minister 
asked  her  if  she  took  that  man  for  her  wedded  husband,  she 
didn't  hear  him  the  first  time,  nor  the  second  either  till  Mr. 
Mettlar  pulled  her  arm,  and  her  mother  spoke  up,  and  said, 
'Hester ! '  and  she  said,  '  Yes.'     Wasn't  it  queer  ? " 

"I  think  she  ought  to  have  been  ashamed;  just  as  if  she 
didn't  care  a  bit  for  her  husband,  and  when  he  has  given  her* 
such  lots  of  fine  things,  and  she  is  to  have  the  best  house  in 
Montgomery!  Pshaw  !  she  is  thinking  of  that  Walter  Gom- 
ery.  I  wish  I  was  in  her  place ;  that's  all :  the  Gomerys  might 
all  go  to  grass." 

Here  this  conversation  was  interrupted,  and  was  not  re- 
newed by  the  same  parties  ;  but  something  like  it  passed  be- 
tween several  coteries  during  the  time  that  intervened  before 
the  guests  departed  for  home  to  be  ready  for  the  grand 
evening  party  that  was  to  be  held  at  a  later  hour  in  the  new 
house  that  was  to  be  the  home  of  the  happy  pair. 

But  the  wedding-party,  after  all  the  expensive  preparations, 
was  not  a  success.  Few  people  besides  those  who  had  been 
at  the  wedding-ceremony  were  present ;  and  those  few  were 
either  not  residents  of  the  village,  or  else  of  that  questionable 
position,  that  their  attendance  was  a  doubtful  compliment. 
Parson  Skeelman's  obstinacy  had  been  the  town-talk  of  the 
day ;  and  many  people,  who,  in  the  morning,  had  intended 
to  be  present  in  the  evening,  asked  themselves,  if,  by  their 
attendance,  they  would  give  countenance  to  what  he  had 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  179 

denounced  as  a  "  human  sacrifice."  Probably  there  was  more 
self-examination  and  self-condemnation  among  the  good  peo- 
ple of  Montgomery  that  day  than  ever  before.  The  result 
of  it  was,  few  attended  the  wedding-party  ;  but  all  who  did 
attend  concurred  in  saying  they  had  never  seen  any  thing  so 
fair  as  the  bride  on  that  her  wedding-eve. 


180  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

44  Leave  untended  the  herd, 
The  flock  without  shelter-; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterred, 
The  bride  at  the  altar  ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 
Leave  nets  and  barges ; 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 
Broadswords  and  targes."  —  Scott. 

Through  the  State  of  Georgia  flows  a  river  called  the  Al- 
tamaha.  It  is  a  noble  river,  deep  enough  and  broad  enough 
to  accommodate  a  merchant-fleet  many  times  larger  than  has 
ever  yet  been  required  by  the  people  who  dwell  in  its  valley. 
At  the  time  to  which  this  history  has  arrived,  the  section  of 
country  which  it  drains  was  far  less  populous  than  it  has  since 
become  ;  and  where  there  was  then  one  steamboat  of  slight^ 
proportions  and  moderate  speed,  now  ply  back  and  forth  the 
strong  tug,  the  swift  and  elegant  passenger-boat,  and  the 
freight-bearing  propeller, — this  last,  however,  before  the  great 
Rebellion.  Some  thirty  miles  from  the  mouth  of  this  river, 
on  its  left  bank,  stands  the  town,  now  city,  which,  though  not 
so  laid  down  on  the  map,  we  will  call  Lancaster.  At  that 
time,  it  contained  about  ten  thousand  people,  and  was  one  of 
the  most  flourishing  places  in  the  State.  It  was  so  near  the 
sea,  that  schooners,  brigs,  sloops,  and  even  small  barks,  could 
reach  it,  favored  by  a  south  wind,  with  little  difficulty.  These 
vessels  were  accustomed  to  bring  assorted  cargoes  of  pro- 
visions and  manufactures  from  the  North,  and  return  laden 
with  cotton,  rice,  and  sometimes  tar  and  pitch,  turpentine, 
hemp,  and  tobacco,  that  had  come  down  a  long  distance  from 
the  interior.  Owing  to  its  peculiar  situation,  the  entire  trade 
of  this  place  was  with  the  North,  and  none  of  it  with  Europe. 
Small  vessels,  well  adapted  for  the  coasting-trade,  could 
easily  ascend  the  river ;  but  large  ships,  suitable  to  cross  the 
Atlantic,  could  not  come  within  twenty  miles  of  the  town. 
Hence  the  trade  was  all  forced  to  the  North ;  and  the  result 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  181 

was,  that  very  close  business  relations  were  established  with 
the  Northern  cities ;  and  all  sorts  of  coasting-craft  used  to 
come  and  go,  with  little  remark  or  attention  as  to  their  objects 
or  business.  The  public  mind  of  the  South  had  not  at  that 
time  been  educated  up  to  the  point  of  regarding  their  pecu- 
liar practice  as  a  divine  institution ;  and  the  people  were  not 
so  jealous  as  they  afterwards  became,  of  having  the  pillars  of 
their  faith  sapped  by  fanatics  and  intruders.  But  the  light 
was  fast  breaking  in  upon  them. 

Between  this  city  and  Philadelphia,  there  had  long  been 
plying  a  regular  coaster,  named  the  "  Good  Intent."  She  was 
a  Maine-built  schooner,  trim,  tidy,  and  fleet,  and  was  owned 
in  good  part  by  her  skipper,  who  had  made  many  voyages  in 
her  from  port  to  port,  with  varying  success,  but  with  the  total 
result  that  he  had  secured  a  moderate  competency  to  himself 
apart  from  and  independent  of  the  schooner.  For  the  last 
three  years,  there  had  been  employed,  as  cook  and  steward  of 
the  "  Good  Intent,"  a  jet-black  negro  named  Lem  Woolsey. 
He  was  never  called  Lem,  however,  nor  Woolsey,  but  always 
Linsey,  or  Linsey  Woolsey.  He  was  a  stout  burly  fellow,  the 
very  impersonation  of  African  good-nature  and  contentment, 
with  a  face  as  black  and  shiny  as  a  black  bottle,  and  as  redo- 
lent of  happiness  as  any  son  of  Ham  that  ever  experienced 
the  curse  of  his  progenitor. 

Now,  it  chanced  that  the  "  Good  Intent"  was  lying  at  a 
wharf  in  Philadelphia  at  the  time  that  Walter  Gomery  was 
stopping  there  on  his  way  he  knew  not  whither.  In  the  un- 
certainty of  his  future,  it  may  well  be  believed  that  his  mind 
was  anxious  and  active.  Though  he  lodged  in  one  of  the 
best  houses  in  the  most  exclusive  part  of  the  city,  and  had 
met  with  a  welcome  that  strongly  appealed  to  him  to  give  up 
his  romantic  idea  of  achieving  his  fortune  independent  of 
family  aid,  he  was  still  firm  in  his  purpose  ;  and  the  difficulties 
that  he  now  clearly  perceived  were  before  him  kept  his  mind 
in  a  whirlwind  of  plans  and  schemes  that  rendered  his  sleep 
fitful  and  unrefreshing,  and  caused  him  to  welcome  the  day- 
light that  dispelled  in  a  measure  the  feverish  perplexities  of 
the  night.  Long  before  the  family  of  his  brother-in-law  were 
stirring,  he  had,  during  his  stay  with  them,  risen,  and  gone 
forth  to  walk  off  the  troubles  of  the  mind  by  the  exercise  of 
the  body.  Naturally  he  sought  those  parts  of  the  city  where 
men  were  most  astir  at  that  early  hour ;  and  the  wharves  and 

VOL.   II.  16 


182  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY: 

markets  became  his  usual  resorts.  He  was  inquisitive  and 
curious  with  every  one  he  met  that  seemed  inclined  to  talk 
with  him  ;  and  he  questioned  and  argued  with  a  view  of  elicit- 
ing information  that  should  determine  his  course. 

Now,  it  happened  that  one  morning,  when  Walter  was 
strolling  about  in  search  of  something  to  direct  his  course,  he 
came  to  a  wharf  alongside  of  which  the  "  Good  Intent"  was 
lying.  As  he  stood  there,  looking  at  the  shipping,  and  debat- 
ing in  his  mind  whether  he  had  not  better,  after  all,  ship  as  a 
green  hand  before  the  mast  for  a  long  voyage,  he  overheard 
Capt.  Dykes  of  the  "  Good  Intent,"  who  was  standing  on  the 
wharf  within  a  few  feet  of  him,  talking  to  a  seedy-looking 
young  man  who  was  higgling  with  him  for  a  passage  to  the 
Altamaha. 

"  Can't  think  of  taking  you  for  less  than  ten  dollars,  money 
or  no  money,"  said  the  skipper. 

"  But  I  haven't  got  so  much,"  said  the  youth  :  "  I  have  only 
got  four  dollars  left.  I  will  give  you  that,  and  work  for  the 
balance  of  the  passage-money." 

"  Work  !  a  pretty  hand  you  will  be  to  work  after  we  have 
been  four  hours  out  of  port :  why,  you  will  be  so  sea-sick,  you 
will  want  a  nurse  and  doctor  to  look  after  you.  You  remind 
me  of  the  man  that  got  the  monkeys  to  pick  cotton.  Them, 
cussed  critters  were  so  spry,  he  allowed  that  one  monkey 
would  pick  as  much  cotton  as  ten  niggers ;  and,  when  he  come 
to  try  it,  he  found  it  took  ten  niggers  to  watch  one  monkey : 
and  so  you,  when  you  get  out  to  sea,  instead  of  helping  the 
hands,  will  want  half  the  crew  to  help  you.  But  hark  you : 
if  you  will  pay  what  you  can  in  cash,  and  agree  to  work  for 
me  four  days,  unloading,  after  we  get  there,  or  one  day  here 
and  three  there,  I  will  take  you.  I  don't  like  to  leave  a  poor 
devil  who  wants  to  get  home." 

"  I'll  work  the  four  days  after  I  get  there,"  said  the  youth. 
"  When  shall  I  come  on  board  ?  " 

"  To-day.  We  shall  clear  this  evening.  You  can  come  on 
board  and  get  your  breakfast  now  in  a  few  minutes,  and  live 
with  us  to-day  if  our  grub  is  not  too  hard  for  you." 

At  this  moment,  the  captain  turned  to  look  to  some  freight 
that  was  going  on  board  the  schooner ;  and  Walter,  who  had 
heard  the  above  conversation,  approached  the  young  man, 
and  asked  him  to  what  port  that  schooner  was  going. 

"  To  Lancaster,  Ga.,  on  the  Altamaha." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.        %  183 

"  You  have  been  there,  then,  before  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  that  is  where  I  was  born  ;  or  about  forty  miles 
from  there,  up  the  river.  My  father  lives  there,  and  has  got 
a  bully  plantation,  and  lots  of  niggers ;  and,  if  I  ever  get 
back  there,  you'll  never  catch  me  North  again.  I  come  on 
here  three  months  ago  to  study  medicine ;  but  the  mean 
Yankees  up  there  to  the  colleges  told  me  I  didn't  know 
enough  to  begin  to  study  medicine,  and  so  I  went  on  a  big 
spree,  and  spent  all  my  money.  Then  I  writ  to  the  old  gov- 
ernor for  more ;  and  the  old  cuss  writ  back,  that,  if  I  had 
spent  t"he  fifteen  hundred  dollars  he  give  me  to  start  on,  I 
might  go  without,  or  else  work  for  more.  So  you  see,  stran- 
ger, I've  got  to  get  back  as  I  can.  But  I  have  come  it  right 
smart  on  the  cap'n  of  the  skuner  here.  I'm  to  work  for  him 
after  I  get  there,  and  pay  for  my  passage  ;  but  let  me  once 
set  my  foot  on  the  soil  of  Georgia,  and  get  once  more  among 
gentlemen  and  men  of  honor,  and  it's  small  work  I  shall  do 
for  him." 

"  You  don't  intend  cheating  him  out  of  your  passage,  do 
you?" 

"  Stranger,  if  you  were  down  in  our  part  of  the  country, 
it  wouldn't  be  healthy  for  you  to  talk  about  cheating  to  a 
gentleman.  We  never  allow  anybody  to  reflect  on  our 
honor.  Why,  there  was  Jim  Wiggle,  he  shot  Dan  Limpkin 
for  saying  he  didn't  think  it  was  right  for  him  to  gamble  off 
the  money  that  belonged  to  the  Widow  Tompkinson ;  and 
Jim  said  it  was  a  reflection  on  his  honor,  and  shot  him,  and 
everybody  said  he  did  right." 

"It  must  be  a  pleasant  country  to  live  in  !  What  chance 
is  there  for  a  man  to  do  any  thing  for  himself  if  he  is  with- 
out capital?" 

"  Stranger,  you  may  be  an  honest  man,  and  a  human  ;  but, 
if  you  don't  know  that  the  Valley  of  the  Altamaha  beats  all 
the  rest  of  creation,  your  ignorance  is  right  smart.  The  peo- 
ple there  is  all  rich ;  and  nobody  works  except  the  niggers, 
and  half  of  them  does  powerful  little." 

"  Well,"  mused  Walter  to  himself,  "  if  that  is  the  way  they 
do,  and  money  is  so  easy  to  get,  perhaps  a  man  of  education, 
who  is  willing  to  work,  can  at  least  make  a  living.  —  Captain," 
said  he  to  the  skipper,  who  by  this  time  was  unoccupied,  and 
had  returned  to  talk  with  his  newly  engaged  passenger, — 
"  captain,  what  will  you  charge  to  take  me  to  Georgia  ?  " 


184  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

"You!"  said  the  captain,  surveying  him  with  a  look  of 
surprise :  "  you !     I  shall  charge  you  twenty  dollars." 

"Why  charge  me  more  than  him  ?" 

"  Because  a  man  with  such  clothes  on  don't  need  to  travel 
on  such  a  schooner  as  mine ;  and  he  will  be  very  particular 
about  his  victuals.  But  then,  if  you  are  sea-sick  (as  of 
course  you  will  be),  it  won't  make  much  difference ;  for  we 
will  be  there  by  the  time  you  are  so  as  to  stow  away  your 
allowance." 

"When  do  you  sail?" 

"To-morrow  morning,  at  daylight." 

"  Let  me  see  your  accommodations." 

The  three  then  went  on  board ;  and  Walter  engaged  his 
passage,  paying  the  required  sum  of  twenty  dollars,  thinking 
no  worse  of  the  skipper  for  charging  extra  on  account  of  his 
good  clothes. 

It  was  a  week  and  a  day  after  this  that  the  "  Good  Intent" 
was  made  fast  to  the  miserable  skeleton  wharf  belonging  to 
the  corporation  of  Lancaster.  She  had  come  up  the  river  in 
the  night  under  a  strong  breeze  from  the  south,  and,  before 
daylight,  was  ready  for  discharging. 

The  passenger  with  the  nice  sense  of  honor,  who  had 
agreed  to  work  at  the  end  of  the  voyage  in  payment  of  his 
passage,  was  not  to  be  found  when  daylight  appeared;  and 
it  was  surmised  by  the  mate  that  he  had  fallen  overboard,  as 
no  man  of  such  high-toned  principles  would  think  of  sneak- 
ing off  without  bidding  his  shipmates  good-by.  Walter, 
however,  said  he  had  probably  gone  ashore  to  get  money  to 
pay  the  interest  on  the  ten  dollars  he  borrowed  from  him  the 
ilay  before. 

During  the  passage,  Walter  had  ingratiated  himself  into 
the  good  graces  of  Capt.  Dykes ;  and  without  giving  him 
any  account  of  his  family  connections,  or  the  somewhat 
Quixotic  idea  that  had  sent  him  forth  among  strangers,  he 
told  him,  that,  like  thousands  of  others  of  the  sons  of  New 
England,  he  had  set  forth  to  seek  his  fortune  by  his  own  wits 
and  labors.  The  captain  told  him  to  stay  on  board  the 
schooner  as  long  as  he  liked,  and  take  his  meals  with  him. 
This  offer  he  improved  for  two  or  three  days,  spending  his 
time  mostly  on  shore  looking  for  something  to  do. 

Lancaster,  as  has  been  said,  was  a  town  of  some  ten  thou- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  185 

sand  inhabitants,  besides  which  it  was  the  shire-town  of  the 
county.  The  court  was  then  in  session  ;  and  Walter  strayed 
into  the  court-room  to  see  how  law  and  justice  were  here  ad- 
ministered. He  had  on  several  occasions  attended  court 
with  his  father  in  his  native  county;  and,  though  he  had 
seen  painful  exhibitions  of  ignorance  by  men  calling  them- 
selves lawyers,  he  had  never  before  witnessed  any  thing  so 
gross  as  here  met  his  view.  He  now  deeply  lamented  his 
failure  to  pass  his  examination  at  home ;  for  he  fancied  that 
if  men  so  illiterate,  so  merciless  to  Lindlay  Murray,  and  so 
prone  to  mix  up  the  dialect  of  the  negro  with  the  language 
of  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  could  get  practice,  he  might  also 
succeed. 

But,  besides  never  having  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  he 
had  never  learned  the  forms  and  details  of  practice ;  and 
hence  his  knowledge  of  the  principles  of  the  law  must  all 
go  for  nothing.  What,  then,  could  he  do  ?  and  why  had  he 
come  to  a  country  like  this?  He  heard  that  an  overseer  was 
wanted  on  a  plantation  a  few  miles  up  the  river ;  the  last  one 
having  been  killed  by  a  slave  a  few  days  before.  But  he 
did  not  understand  the  business  of  overseeing  negroes;  and, 
besides,  he  had  a  prejudice  against  it.  His  education  had 
been  so  defective,  that  he  could  not  regard  the  occupation  of 
slave-driving  as  altogether  respectable  and  elevating.  This 
defect  in  the  system  of  education  in  the  institutions  of  learn- 
ing at  the  North,  was  subsequently,  to  a  great  extent,  re- 
moved through  the  pious  and  patriotic  exertions  of  various 
eminent  divines,  including  bishops,  college  presidents,  and 
professors,  whose  labors  to  present  the  South-side  view 
of  slavery  in  its  most  lovely  aspects  were  so  entirely  suc- 
cessful, that  those  who  doubted  its  divine  character,  and  its 
humanizing  and  refining  tendency,  came  to  be  regarded  as 
fanatics,  as  men  of  one  idea,  utterly  unfit  to  take  part  in  the 
administration  of  the  Government,  and  undeserving  of  social 
influence  and  respect. 

After  casting  about  for  several  days,  finding  nothing  at  all 
congenial  to  his  tastes,  he  at  length  heard  of  an  opening 
that  he  believed  he  could  fill  acceptably.  A  few  miles  up 
the  river  from  Lancaster,  a  sort  of  private  academy,  of  a 
character  quite  exceptional  in  that  country,  had  been  kept 
up  for  several  years.  The  late  teacher  (or  professor,  as  he 
was    called)  had  just  married  a  rich  widow  twenty  years 

16* 


186  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

older  than  himself,  with  a  large  plantation  well  stocked  with 
slaves  and  other  cattle.  This  necessitated  the  giving-up  of 
his  school ;  and  so  it  came  about  that  there  was  a  vacancy, 
and  an  eligible  situation  for  any  young  man  competent  for 
the  place.  The  school  had  long  enjoyed  a  good  reputation, 
notwithstanding  that  the  last  teacher  had  disappointed  his 
patrons.  But  love  and  plantations  are  prone  to  play  sad 
havoc  with  schoolmasters. 

Walter  applied  for  the  situation;  and,  producing  his  col- 
lege diploma,  was  at  once  engaged  at  a  salary  of  four  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year. 

This  school  was  a  private  affair,  and  supported  by  a  few 
wealthy  families,  whose  plantations  were  so  situated,  that, 
though  the  estates  were  large,  the  houses  were  all  so  near  to 
each  other,  that,  from  a  given  centre,  they  would  all  be  in- 
cluded in  a  radius  of  two  and  a  half  miles.  They  all  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  Altamaha,  though  situated  at  dis- 
tances more  or  less  remote  from  its  banks.  The  boundaries 
between  the  plantations  seem  to  have  been  set  by  Nature, 
as,  from  the  high  range  of  hills  that  stretches  along  in  a  zig- 
zag course  nearly  parallel  with  the  river,  descend  numerous 
rivulets,  that,  uniting  as  they  course  their  way  between  the 
spurs  which  jut  out  from  the  mountain-range,  form,  as  they 
descend  into  the  plain,  large  brooks,  so  deep  and  broad  be- 
fore discharging  into  the  Altamaha,  that  long  and  substantial 
bridges  are  required  to  span  them.  These  brooks  form  the 
boundaries  of  those  plantations  next  to  the  river;  and  others 
farther  back  lie  between  the  different  forks,  that,  united,  make 
up  the  larger  streams :  yet  the  whole  is  so  situated  withal, 
that  eight  plantations  (two  of  them  very  large,  and  none  of 
them  small)  have  their  family  mansions  within  a  short  radius 
of  two  and  a  half  miles.  At  the  central  point,  and  at  a 
place  called  the  "Grove,"  had  been  erected  a  cheap  building, 
which  was  called  the  "  College  "  by  the  people  in  the  vicini- 
ty, but  which  Walter  told  them  would  be  called  a  school- 
house  in  New  England,  and  a  poor  one  at  that. 

To  keep  up  this  school,  the  proprietors  of  the  different 
plantations  had  paid,  for  some  years,  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars 
each ;  and  the  privilege  was  accorded  to  the  professor  to 
receive  other  pupils  on  tuition,  if  none  of  the  corporation 
objected :  so  that  his  income  for  the  year  usually  amounted 
to  seven  hundred  dollars  or  more. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  187 

The  families  who  composed  the  corporation,  as  people 
called  those  privileged  ones  that  had  a  college  of  their 
own,  were  all  of  the  most  respectable  and  aristocratic  char- 
acter; and  the  neighborhood  of  the  Grove,  which  they 
formed,  was  regarded  as  more  exclusive  and  select  than  any- 
other  within  a  hundred  miles  of  Lancaster.  Their  college 
had  given  their  young  people  a  precedence  over  the  children 
of  the  other  neighborhoods ;  and  though  the  patriarchs  of 
the  plantations  often  quarrelled  on  other  subjects,  like  the 
people  of  less-favored  sections,  and  on  politics  and  religion 
were  as  uncharitable  and  intolerant  as  the  most  orthodox, 
yet  on  the  subject  of  keeping  up  the  school  on  a  liberal 
basis,  so  that  no  man's  politics  or  creed  should  have  the 
preference,  their  "unanimity  was  wonderful."  The  school 
gave  them  all  the  advantages  of  private  tutors,  at  a  moiety 
of  the  expense,  and  without  that  encumbrance  in  the 
respective  families.  The  boys  had  the  stimulus  of  emulation, 
and  there  was  less  danger  that  the  girls  would  fall  in  love 
with  the  Yankee  schoolmaster. 

The  most  influential  man  of  this  favored  neighborhood  was 
also  the  richest ;  and  it  was  owing  to  his  influence  that  the 
college  had  been  originally  established.  He  was  known  as 
Col.  Kingsbury.  At  the  time  Walter  was  engaged  as  teach- 
er, his  oldest  son  was  partly  fitted  for  college  ;  and  a  most 
amiable  and  exemplary  youth  he  was.  There  were  two  young- 
er brothers  besides,  and  a  little  girl,  —  the  youngest^  of  all, 
who  was  the  pet  and  joy  of  the  house.  It  was,  take  it  all  in 
all,  a  most  interesting  family.  The  head  of  it  was,  in  the 
best  sense  of  that  oft-perverted  expression,  "a  high-toned 
Southern  gentleman."  He  had  strong  prejudices,  it  is  true, 
against  innovation ;  and  was  of  that  numerous  and  respec- 
table class  that  is  unwilling  to  believe  that  any  thing  new 
can  be  otherwise  than  evil.  But  he  was  a  just  man,  and  of 
vastly  superior  intelligence  to  any  of  his  neighbors;  and,  as 
it  is  a  well-established  fact  that  light  and  prejudice  do  not 
dwell  harmoniously  together  in  the  same  tenement,  he  was 
more  liberal  and  tolerant  than  those  who,  in  their  extreme 
ignorance,  knew  they  were  right.  His  wife  was  admitted  by 
all  her  acquaintances  to  be  a  pattern  housekeeper,  but  wanting 
in  that  dignity  peculiar  to  ladies  of  Southern  birth.  She 
would  look  to  her  own  household,  and,  if  things  went  wrong 
in-doors,  would  take  the  blame  to  herself  instead  of  sending 


188  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMEEY  I 

her  maid-servants  to  the  quarters  to  be  whipped.  She  had 
come  South  nineteen  years  before  to  serve  as  a  governess 
in  the  family  of  her  husband's  father,  and  had  brought  many 
ideas  of  thrift  with  her  that  were  quite  unknown  to  her 
neighbors. 

This  good  woman  suggested  that  the  teacher  of  the  school 
should  come  and  live  in  the  family;  and  thus,  while  lessening 
his  expenses,  he  would  be  able  to  act  as  a  sort  of  private 
tutor  to  the  younger  children,  teaching  them  their  elementary 
branches  at  the  same  time  that  he  would  be  of  assistance  out 
of  school-hours  to  the  elder  ones.  This  arrangement  seemed 
to  please  all,  and  was  finally  adopted;  and  Walter  found 
himself  comfortably  domiciled  in  the  Kingsbury  mansion, 
with  a  comfortable  room  to  himself,  and  among  people  who 
showed  him  respect  and  confidence.  His  prospects  were  now 
brighter  than  he  had  ever  hoped  for ;  his  employment  was 
not  distasteful  to  him ;  and  he  determined  to  be  an  independ- 
ent man,  and  work  out  his  own  fortune,  unaided  by  his 
worldly-wise  brothers,  who  had  always  laughed  at  his  roman- 
tic ideas  and  impractical  theories. 

Why  should  he  not  be  a  teacher?  Why  not  spend  his  life 
in  that  useful  employment?  He  could  soon  accumulate  a 
few  hundred  dollars,  and  return  North,  and  bring  back  with 
him  one  who  would  be  but  too  happy  to  share  with  him  so 
humble  and  so  useful  a  lot.  Such  a  life  would  allow  him  to 
indulge  in  his  favorite  studies  and  theories,  and  would  afford 
him  time  to  write  his  great  book.  Thus  elated  with  his 
prospects,  he  wrote  his  first  letter  home,  enclosing  in  it  one 
to  Hester. 

For  some  reason  unknown,  that  letter  never  reached  its 
address.  * 

As  a  teacher,  Walter's  experience  was  more  agreeable 
than  he  had  reason  to  or  did  anticipate.  His  oldest  pupil 
was  George  Kingsbury;  and  he  was  but  sixteen.  An  older 
set,  who  had  made  difficulty  with  the  former  professor, 
had  left  the  college  a  year  before ;  and  his  scholars  were 
too  young  to  set  up  a  new  standard  of  rebellion.  Besides, 
his  manner  was  more  calculated  to  excite  emulation  than 
opposition.  He  piqued  their  curiosity  by  suggesting  and 
arguing  various  propositions  and  problems,  always  having  as 
a  substratum  of  his  theories  and  ideas  the  absolute  and  eternal 
right,  that,  in  his  own  college-days,  he  had  relied  upon  to  con- 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  189 

found  the  professors,  and  win  marks  of  demerit.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  he  soon  found  his  own  pupils  arguing  with 
their  parents  various  abstruse  and  home-reaching  questions, 
some  of  which  involved  the  justice  of  that  institution  which 
statesmen  and  clergymen  were  just  beginning  to  teach  was 
of  divine  origin.  This  provoked  inquiry  from  the  parents; 
but  they  could  never  learn  of  an  idea  advanced  by  the  teacher 
to  which  they  did  not,  to  the  fullest  extent,  assent.  Yet  they 
found  heresy  in  their  midst,  —  fanatical,  damnable,  abolition 
heresy ;  and  how  to  account  for  it  they  did  not  know,  except 
on  the  hypothesis  that  the  Southern  blood  was  degenerating. 
Surely  they  could  take  no  blame  to  themselves  for  this. 
Though  they  had  been  taught  by  their  parents  that  slavery 
was  an  evil,  a  sin,  and  a  curse,  yet  they  had  grown  wiser  in 
their  generation,  and  taught  their  children  that  it  was  of 
divine  right,  ordained  of  Providence  to  exalt  the  master,  and 
redeem  and  Christianize  the  lost  children  of  Ham.  Yet,  for 
all  that,  they  found  a  dangerous  heresy  making  its  way 
among  them,  and  they  regarded  it  as  an  infliction  sent  by 
Providence ;  and,  instead  of  taking  it  as  one  of  the  judgments 
against  the  wicked,  they  comforted  themselves,  as  Seth 
Mettlar  was  doing  about  the  same  time  far  away  from  there, 
with  the  text,  "Whom  the  Lord  loveth,  him  he  chasteneth." 

Now,  while  Walter  Gomery  was  thus  engaged  in  instructing 
the  youth  of  this  neighborhood  in  the  elementary  branches 
of  knowledge,  from  simple  addition  to  differential  calculus, 
and  from  reading  the  "National  Reader"  to  translating  Homer, 
the  schooner  "Good  Intent"  was  still  plying  between  Lan- 
caster and  Philadelphia,  and  Capt.  Dykes  still  held  his  old 
position  as  skipper.  He  and  Walter  continued  fast  friends; 
and,  every  time  he  came  up  the  river,  he  went  out  to  the 
Kingsbury  Plantation  to  visit  his  former  passenger.  He 
found  his  visits  there  not  only  agreeable,  but  profitable; 
for  he  was  able  to  make  several  good  bargains  with  the 
planters  to  ship  their  produce  direct,  and  thus  save  the  com- 
missions and  brokerage  to  his  own  pocket;  and,  if  an  advance 
was  wanted  by  the  always-in-debt  rich  planter,  he  could  strain 
a  point,  double  his  profit,  and  make  it.  A  true  Yankee  was 
Capt.  Dykes,  shrewd  at  a  bargain,  and  exact  in  the  execu- 
tion of  its  terms. 

Six  months  passed  away,  and  Walter  received  no  answer 
to  his  letters.     This  caused  him  great  uneasiness ;  but  then 


190  GOMERT    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

the  mails  were  not  so  prompt  and  regular  in  those  days  as 
they  became  afterwards.  Perhaps  his  letters  had  nevei 
reached  Montgomery;  or,  if  they  had,  the  answers  might 
have  miscarried.  So  he  wrote  again  direct  to  Hester;  and 
the  fate  of  that  letter  we  have  already  seen,  and  the  dispo- 
sition made  of  it  by  her  brother  at  the  instigation  of  Seth 
Mettlar.  Thus  it  came  about,  that,  from  the  failure  of  those 
two  letters,  no  one  at  Montgomery,  save  only  Seth  Mettlar, 
had  the  least  idea  where  he  was ;  and  he  had  written  two 
more  letters  to  Hester,  which  her  fond  husband  took  care 
should  never  come  into  her  hand.  He  had  also  written  to  his 
father  and  mother  again,  asking  why  it  was  that  he  never 
heard  from  any  of  them.  This  last  letter  he  sent  to  the  post- 
office  by  a  young  man,  the  son  of  Col.  Kingsbury's  nearest 
neighbor,  who  forgot  to  leave  it,  and,  being  out  shooting  the 
next  day,  used  it  up  for  gun-wads.  But,  before  he  received 
any  answer  from  them,  a  paper  came  addressed  to  him,  being 
the  first  thing  that  had  yet  come  to  him  through  the  post- 
office.  He  opened  it,  and  saw,  that,  to  call  his  attention,  a 
paragraph  had  been  marked  with  a  pen.  It  was  the  announce- 
ment of  Hester's  marriage  to  Seth  Mettlar. 

Walter  was  not  demonstrative  in  his  nature;  and,  save 
only  good  Mrs.  Kingsbury,  no  one  divined  that  any  trouble 
was  preying  at  his  heart.  She  saw  it,  and  endeavored  to 
draw  from  him  the*  cause  of  it,  but  without  avail.  He  con- 
tinued at  his  labors  with  never  a  word  of  repining  or  re- 
proach; but  his  plans  for  the  future  were  all  destroyed. 
There  seemed  nothing  for  him  now  but  to  mark  out  the  way 
to  which  duty  called,  and  to  follow  it  as  a  remorseless  task, 
and  in  that  find  the  only  content  this  world  could  offer. 

While  he  was  in  this  frame  of  mind,  he  strolled  out  one 
Wednesday  afternoon,  —  for  there  was  no  school  on  Wednes- 
day afternoons, — and  wandered  away  into  the  deep  woods 
of  magnolia,  Cyprus,  oak,  and  laurel,  that,  at  a  distance  of 
half  a  mile  from  the  house,  covered  the  crests  of  the  increas- 
ing undulations,  until  the  clearly  defined  hill-sides  stood 
forth  decked  with  the-  gorgeous  foliage  of  every  hue  that 
Nature  can  show  when  she  first  touches  the  earth  with  her 
pencil  of  frost.  He  had  been  roaming  about  for  two  or 
three  hours,  now  stopping  to  gather  the  wild  nuts  of  the 
forest,  and  now  observing  the  squirrels  and  wild  pigs  that 
his  approach  sent  scampering  from  his  path.     As  he  was  re- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  191 

turning  homewards  after  his  stroll,  he  had  barely  emerged 
from  the  woods,  when  he  saw,  coming  along  the  path  by 
which  he  had  himself  entered,  the  burly  form  of  Capt.  Dykes. 

"Halloo,  captain!"  said  he:  "where  are  you  steering 
now?' 

"  Ha,  Walter !  here  you  are,  then !  I  was  going  to  look 
for  you.  I  couldn't  find  any  cargo,  though  I  have  been 
lying  here  a  month;  and  so  I  thought  I'd  come  up  and  give 
you  a  call.  When  I  got  to  the  house,  they  told  me  you 
had  gone  off  moping  into  the  woods.  I  told  'em  I'd  go  and 
look  for  you ;  for  I've  got  something  on  hand  mighty  par- 
ticular, and  I've  come  up  to  consult  you  about  it.  But  I've 
made  up  my  mind." 

"  You've  made  up  your  mind !  and  so  you  come  to  con- 
sult me?" 

"Yes  —  no:  I  mean  I  think  I  have  a  good  thing,  and 
want  to  ask  your  opinion  about  it." 

"  And  if  my  opinion  don't  agree  with  yours  ?  " 

"  Then  I  shall  follow  my  own." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  respect  you  show  me  at  least. 
You  put  yourself  out  to  come  up  here  to  get  my  opinion, 
after  having  made  up  your  mind  that  it  is  not  worth  heeding. 
Your  acts  contradict  themselves." 

"  Well,  you  have  helped  me  to  two  or  three  good  things ; 
and  I  thought  it  would  not  be  showing  much  respect  or 
gratitude  if  I  did  not  now  consult  you,  though  I  think  well 
enough  of  this  job  to  take  it  up  on  my  own  judgment." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  sell  the  old  schooner.  I  have  had  a  bully 
offer.  You  know  she's  getting  old,  and  I  am  older  than  I 
used  to  be  ;  and  I've  been  thinking  for  the  past  year  or  two, 
if  I  could  sell  out  the  'Good  Intent,'  I'd  quit  going  to  sea,  and 
stay  at  home  with  the  wife  and  children.  The  pitcher  that 
goes  often  to  the  well  is  sure  to  be  broken  at  last ;  and  how 
do  I  know  but  I  may  make  one  voyage  too  many  if  I  don't 
quit  now?  That  is  what  Kitty  has  been  telling  me  for  five 
years  or  more ;  and  Kitty,  poor  foolish  thing !  she  thinks 
there's  not  another  man  on  airth  so  good  as  me.  Besides, 
I've  seen  so  much  of  this  nigger  business,  I'm  sick  of  it.  So 
I  think,  if  I  can  sell  out,  I'll  quit  going  to  sea.  But  the  fact 
is,  I  b'lieve  there  is  some  underhand  business  going  on,  and 
that's  why  I've  come  to  see  you." 


192  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  Since  you  have  come  to  consult  me,  tell  me  all  about  it," 
said  Walter,  as  they  leisurely  strolled  along  towards  the 
house. 

"  I  suspect,"  replied  the  captain,  looking  cautiously  about, 
as  fearing,  even  there,  lest  he  should  be  overheard,  —  "I  sus- 
pect a  plot  among  a  lot  of  niggers  to  run  away,  and  get 
North ;  and  they  want  to  buy  the  'Good  Intent'  for  that  pur- 
pose. They  offer  me  five  hundred  dollars  more  than  she  is 
worth ;  and  they  have  got  the  money  too ;  and,  what  do 
you  think,  old  Lindsey  Wolsey  is  at  the  bottom  of  it !  If  I 
trade,  I  can  just  take  my  money  and  cut  home,  and  get 
there,  too,  in  time  for  Jane's  wedding.  I  told  you  on  the 
voyage  that  my  oldest  daughter  was  to  be  married  at 
Thanksgiving;  and  then,  if  the  slaves  can  get  away,  all  I 
have  to  say  is,  I  would  do  the  same  if  I  was  in  their  place ; 
and  you  know  the  Scripter  it  says  '  we  should  do  as  we'd 
be  done  by.'  And  I  know,  if  I  was  in  their  place,  I'd  be 
mighty  glad  to  have  somebody  give  me  a  chance  for  my 
freedom." 

"  Capt.  Dykes,"  said  Walter,  "  why  did  you  wish  to  say 
any  thing  to  me  about  this  affair?  Do  you  not  see  that  I  am 
liable  to  be  brought  into  difficulty  ?  These  people  here  have 
used  me  with  great  kindness ;  and  if  I  know  of  this  affair, 
and  do  not  reveal  it,  I  shall  seem  to  them  guilty  of  ingrati- 
tude ;  and,  if  I  do  inform  on  them,  I  shall  be  guilty  of  a 
crime  against  nature,  by  informing  on  men  seeking  the  right 
of  owning  themselves,  —  the  freedom  that  God  intended  for 
all." 

"  But  you  won't  expose  me  ?  You  won't  ruin  me  by  re- 
porting what  I  have  told  you  in  confidence  ?  " 

"  As  for  your  profit  and  loss,  it  is  a  matter  of  minor  im- 
portance. I  shall  surely  do  nothing  to  compromise  your 
personal  safety.  But  the  matter  of  liberty  or  slavery  to  a 
single  individual  outweighs,  by  a  thousand  times,  any  in- 
terest you  may  have  in  this  speculation.  During  my  resi- 
dence here,  I  have  seen,  as  I  have  been  told  and  believe, 
slavery  in  its  best  aspects ;  and  yet  I  have  witnessed  enough 
to  make  a  man  ashamed  of  bearing  the  human  form.  It  was 
only  last  week  that  a  slave-trader  was  along  buying  up  the 
surplus  stock  on  the  older  plantations  in  this  neighborhood; 
and,  though  I  kept  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible,  I  saw 
that  death's  doings  are  merciful  compared  with  those  of 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  193 

slavery.  I  know  not  whether  I  more  pitied  or  despised  the 
miserable  wretches.  I  could  but  pity  their  torn  hearts,  the 
agony  of  natural  ties  rudely  rent  asunder,  and  their  hopeless 
despair.  But  I  despised  them  because  they  endured  their 
servitude  so  humbly.  Why,  any  other  race  would  brave 
and  endure  any  thing  sooner  than  submit  to  or  live  such 
a  life ;  they  would  rise,  though  death  inevitable,  unsparing, 
stood  before  them  in  every  form  of  cruelty  and  torture. 
And  yet  they  submit,  year  after  year,  and  see  their  children 
and  brothers  and  sisters  sold  oif,  never  to  meet  them  again 
in  this  world;  and  the  father  and  mother  go  unresisting 
again  to  their  work,  and  raise  up  more  children  to  follow  the 
same  cheerless,  hopeless  road.  Occasionally  one,  more  cou- 
rageous and  intelligent  than  his  fellows,  makes  his  escape ; 
and  I  honor  him  as  one  above  his  class,  and  above  the  po- 
sition of  a  beast  and  chattel.  But  such  are  so  few,  that  I 
see  no  hope  for  them  as  a  race  ;  and  I  have  been  perplexed 
in  trying  to  study  out  some  plan  that  might  mitigate  their 
condition,  and  promise  a  brighter  future.  But  they  have  so 
little  ambition,  so  little  recuperative  energy  left  them,  after 
centuries  of  degradation,  that  their  redemption  must  come 
from  a  source  beyond  themselves.  Could  the  subject  be 
treated  on  humane  and  enlarged  principles,  their  gradual 
elevation  might  be  possible  ;  but  the  system  is  a  self-evident 
crime,  and  those  who  uphold  it  dare  not  look  it  in  the  face. 
They  suppress  all  discussion  of  the  subject,  and  try  to  convince 
themselves  that  they  are  not  worse,  after  all,  than  other  men. 
After  brutalizing  the  poor  wretches  through  successive  gene- 
rations, they  smother  all  reflection  on  their  own  responsi- 
bility for  what  they  have  caused  and  are  causing;  and,  by 
transparent  sophistries,  they  try  to  soothe  their  own  con- 
sciences, and  reconcile  duty  with  self-interest.  But,  conscious 
of  their  own  false  reasoning,  they  will  not  tolerate  discus- 
sion ;  and  they  regard  as  enemies,  to  be  destroyed  without 
mercy,  all  who  would  disturb  the  quiet  of  their  souls  in  the 
enjoyment  of  what  is  held  only  by  a  system  of  robbery. 
The  highwayman  takes  the  traveller's  money  because  he  is 
stronger,  the  master  eats  the  bread  the  slave  has  earned 
because  he  is  whiter;  but  both  are  alike  thieves.  The 
slaves  are  too  abject  to  strike  a  blow  for  themselves ;  and  the 
demon  of  selfishness  has  so  possessed  the  souls  of  the  mas- 
ters, that  they  have  become  purblind  and  callous;   and  to 

VOL.  II.  17 


194  GOMEEY    OF   MONTGOMEEY  : 

me  there  appears  little  hope  that  the  masters  will  ever  break 
their  mental,  or  the  slaves  their  material,  chains.  The  latter 
have  no  hope  in  themselves  ;  but  they  have  a  faith  that 
they  will  be  delivered  some  day  from  bondage ;  and  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  deliverance  can  come  only  through  the 
folly  of  their  masters.  The  existence  of  an  enslaved  race 
renders  their  masters  domineering,  self-confident,  and  arro- 
gant. The  boys  learn  to  be  despots  while  hardly  out  of 
their  swaddling-clothes ;  and,  when  men,  we  have  seen  their 
insolence  in  the  halls  of  Congress.  Their  arrogance  and  spirit 
of  aggression,  which  are  the  direct  result  of  the  curse 
they  so  cherish,  must  sooner  or  later  provoke  opposition  and 
collision  between  them  and  the  people  of  the  North,  whom 
they  affect  so  much  to  despise.  Then  the  accursed  thing 
will  be  swept  from  the  earth ;  for  neither  the  legions  of 
Titus  against  Jerusalem,  of  Brennus  against  Rome,  or  Scipio 
against  Carthage,  committed  such  havoc  as  will  the  armies 
of  the  North  on  the  citadels  of  slavery  when  once  they 
realize  the  true  character  of  the  horrid  Moloch  that  aspires 
to  govern  the  whole  land.  Thus,  perhaps,  the  vile  system 
may  be  broken  up  and  destroyed.  To  this  end,  such  escapes 
as  you  speak  of  must  all  tend;  for  not  only  does  every 
fugitive  excite  the  interest  and  sympathy,  but  also  the  re- 
spect, of  the  people  both  North  and  South  by  the  mere  fact 
of  his  escaping.  And  it  is  respect  that  must  finally  tell. 
Escaped  fugitives  are  listened  to  and  respected,  because 
they  have  shown,  that,  to  gain  freedom,  they  would  confront 
danger.  Before  our  people  at  the  North  can  take  much  in- 
terest in  the  slave,  he  must  see  that  he  is  possessed  of  some 
sparks  of  those  higher  feelings  that  ennoble  humanity.  He 
must  show,  that,  for  liberty,  he  is  willing  to  risk  something. 
It  is  hard  to  help  those  who  will  not  help  themselves.  The 
gods  are  not  prone  to  do  it;  and  men  are  less  than  gods. 
Hence  I  regard  the  fugitive  as  the  forerunner,  and  in  a 
manner  the  cause,  of  the  redemption  of  his  race.  He  departs, 
and  drags  at  each  remove  a  shortening  chain.  When  he  re- 
turns, his  neck  will  be  clothed  with  thunder." 

Thus,  as  they  walked  towards  the  house,  Walter  expressed 
his  ideas  of  slavery  to  Capt.  Dykes,  who  assented  to  all  he 
said,  not  because  he  believed  in  it,  or  took  much  interest  in 
the  subject  any  way,  but  because  he  was  only  thinking  of 
the  sale  of  the  "  Good  Intent."   If  he  could  pocket  his  money, 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  195 

and  get  safely  away,  his  object  would  be  accomplished ;  and 
he  thought  little  about  subsequent  results.  The  slaves  were 
to  take  their  chance  for  freedom,  or  the  penalties  of  being 
caught  in  attempting  to  escape ;  and  he  was  not  responsible 
for  either  failure  or  success.  He  would  sell  his  vessel  only 
as  a  business  transaction ;  and,  if  they  achieved  their  free- 
dom, what  was  that  to  him  ?  and  if  they  failed,  and  were  put 
to  death  for  the  attempt,  what  was  that  to  him  ?  He  was 
no  politician,  and  only  wanted  to  sell  his  vessel,  get  his 
money,  and  return  North  to  his  family.  Then  he  would 
never  go  to  sea  again. 

To  a  train  of  replies  of  this  kind,  Walter  said,  "  Well, 
then,  I  don't  know  as  I  am  called  upon,  under  the  circum- 
stances, either  to  say  or  do  any  thing  in  the  affair.  I  would 
dislike  to  be  a  party  to  it ;  for  people  here  have  been  kind  to 
me,  and  it  would  seem  a  poor  return  for  me  to  entice  away 
what  they  regard  as  property.  Much  less  can  I  interfere  to 
put  any  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  escape.  If  I  were  in 
their  place,  I  would  do  the  same ;  and,  as  I  shall  neither 
help  nor  hinder,  I  am  sorry  you  ever  said  any  thing  to  me 
about  it.  It  can  do  no  good,  and  may  get  me  into 
trouble." 

"  But,"  says  Dykes,  "  if  you  are  to  be  exposed  to  the  ven- 
geance of  the  owners,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the 
affair.     I  shall  not  leave  you  in  the  lurch." 

"  I  will  look  out  for  myself,  and  keep  out  of  harm's  way. 
I  shall  take  no  part  either  way,  and  shall  have  nothing  to 
fear." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house ;  and  Capt. 
Dykes  got  into  his  wagon,  and  drove  away. 

For  several  days  after  this,  every  thing  in  and  about  Lan- 
caster moved  along  as  quietly,  to  all  appearance,  as  ever. 
But  Walter,  being  forewarned,  could  plainly  see  that  some 
of  the  oldest  and  most  faithful  house-servants  were  engaged 
in  some  deep  and  mysterious  plot.  Yet  none  of  the  Kings- 
bury Family  suspected  any  thing.  About  a  week  after  his 
interview  with  Capt.  Dykes,  he  went  to  the  town  in  com- 
pany with  Col.  Kingsbury ;  and,  while  the  latter  was  engaged 
in  transacting  some  business,  Walter,  seeing  the  "  Good  In- 
tent" apparently  deserted,  so  near  the  bank  that  a  plank 
reached  from  the  shore  to  the  schooner,  went  on  board  to 
have  a  talk  with  the  captain. 


196  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

But  he  found  no  one  in  the  vessel,  except  old  Lindsey 
Woolsey,  whose  face  shone  as  radiant  and  unctuous  as  ever; 
and  he  gave  "  Massa  Walter  "  a  welcome  as  loud  and  bois- 
terous as  ever,  though  the  latter  plainly  saw  that  his  hilarity 
was  affected,  and  his  carelessness  assumed. 

He  inquired  of  the  Ethiopian  for  Capt.  Dykes. 

"  Don't  know  whar  he  is,"  said  Lindsey.  "  Him  an'  the 
mate  had  a  awful  big  jaw  night  afore  last;  and  the  cap'n 
paid  him  off,  and  told  him,  if  he  ever  seed  him  aboard  the 
Good  Intent'  agin,  he'd  split  his  head  with  a  marlin-spike. 
-in',  arter  he'd  gone,  he  fell  to  'busin'  the  han's;  an'  he  told 
'em  they  was  a  set  o'  lazy  rascals ;  an'  he  paid  them  too,  an' 
sent  'em  off;  an'  they  went  an'  shipped  on  the  'Wild  Drake,' 
that  had  been  waitin'  for  han's  for  a  week ;  an'  yesterday 
she  dropped  down  the  river,  an'  I  'spect  she's  clean  out  to 
sea  by  this  time.  Then  the  cap'n  went  off  hisself  some'eres. 
So  there's  nobody  left  to  take  care  of  the  ship  'cept  old  Lin- 
sey  Woolsey;  an'  I'm  cap'n,  mate,  cook,  an'  all  han's. 
Ha,  ha!" 

"  And  when  is  he  coming  back? " 

"  I'm  looking  for  him  every  minute.  Won't  you  walk  into 
the  cabin,  and  set  down  and  wait  for  him  ?  An'  won't  you 
take  suthin',  Massa  Walter  ?  Here's  the  cap'n's  brandy  bot- 
tle ;  an'  he  always  drinks  the  best." 

"No:  I  will  not  drink  any  thing.  But  tell  him  that  I 
called  to  see  him ;  tell  him,  too,  that  I  want  to  see  him. 
Will  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I'll  tell  him  sartain ;  and  he  will  come  right  up 
and  see  you,  when  he  comes  back." 

"  Yes :  vj/ien  he  comes  back." 

Walter  looked  sharply  at  the  negro  when  he  said  this, 
particularly  emphasizing  the  word  when.  The  black  man 
started,  and  gave  a  look  of  mingled  surprise  and  despair ; 
but  in  an  instant  he  recovered  himself,  and,  forcing  his  ivory 
into  full  view,  he  said,  "  Yes,  yes !  I'll  tell  him  you  want  to 
see  him  right  quick." 

It  was  now  clear  to  Walter  that  the  skipper,  after  having 
got  his  crew  out  of  harm's  way  by  means  of  a  quarrel, 
had  taken  himself  off  by  means  of  another  conveyance.  It 
was  not  likely  the  plot  would  long  slumber ;  and  Walter  re- 
turned to  the  Kingsbury  plantation  bewildered  and  anxious. 

The  next  morning,  Walter  rose  earlier  than  usual,  and  set 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  197 

himself  to  reading  the  Confessions  of  Rousseau.  He  had 
been  thus  engaged  about  an  hour,  when  he  heard  the  voice 
of  Col.  Kingsbury  calling  loudly  for  old  Peter. 

"  Pete,  Pete !  come  here,  you  sluggard !  What  does  this 
mean  ?     Why  aren't  the  cattle  turned  out  ?  " 

"  Pete  aren't  to  home,  massa,"  piped  out  a  decrepit  old 
slave,  named  Clem,  that  had  just  crawled  out  from  the  cook- 
house, on  the  floor  of  which  he  had  been  sleeping  all  night. 

"  Aren't  to  home  ?     Where  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  I  'spect  he's  gone  over  t'other  side  the  ridge  to  see  one 
o'  Gen.  Pinnock's  gals.  He  is  in  lub  powerful  with  one  o' 
the  gen'l's  young  niggers.  I  'spect  he's  gone  to  see  her,  an' 
staid  too  long ;  an',  as  he  knowed  he'd  get  a  lickin'  anyhow, 
he  thought  he  might  just  as  well  be  hanged  for  an  old  sheep 
as  a  lamb." 

"  Where's  Albert,  then  ?  Albert,  come  here,  you  lazy 
fellow ! "     But  Albert  answered  not. 

"  I  reckon  he's  gone  to  look  arter  de  hosses  in  de  fur- 
der  pasture,  as  you  telled  him  to  last  night,  —  to  start  arly, 
and  bring  up  the  big  grays." 

"  So  I  did,  devil  take  it !  Go  and  call  Sam,  then,  from 
the  garden  ;  and  tell  him  to  saddle  Tipton,"  said  he  to  a  bright 
quadroon  girl  of  about  seven,  who  showed  strong  evidence 
of  the  Kingsbury  blood  in  her  veins.  And  then  tell  Lotty 
to  hurry  up  her  breakfast.  You  needn't  send  for  Sam 
neither ;  for  I  promised  him  a  holiday  to-day,  and  last  even- 
ing he  went  off  to  see  his  old  woman,  and  won't  be  back  all 
day." 

"He  went  last  night,"  replied  Clem. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  fine  state  of  affairs ! "  said  the  master,  get- 
ting excited,  and  striding  up  and  down  in  front  of  the 
house.  "  Not  a  boy  about  to  saddle  a  horse  !  If  this  is  the 
way  things  are  going  on,  I  reckon  I  may  as  well  let  all  my 
slaves  go." 

"I  can't  find  Lotty,"  said  the  little  quadroon,  running 
back  out  of  breath.  "  She  aren't  in  the  kitchen,  aren't  in  the 
store-house,  aren't  nowhar." 

"  Worse  and  worse !  I  shall  have  to  turn  cook,  and  get 
my  own  breakfast,  yet." 

At  this  time,  Walter  appeared  among  them,  and  asked 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  Matter !  "  said  the  old  man,  stamping  his  foot :  "  matter 
17* 


198  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY*. 

enough,  I  think.  The  field-hands  are  all  out  picking,  and  not 
a  house-servant  to  be  found." 

Just  at  this  moment,  the  overseer  of  the  next  plantation 
came  riding  up  in  great  haste,  and  inquired  if  any  of  their 
slaves  had  been  seen  about  there.  Six  of  them,  including 
two  house-servants,  and  the  blacksmith  and  carpenter,  were 
missing. 

"  I  'spect  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  old  Clem.  "  There  was 
a  great  ball  over  to  Col.  Preston's  among  his  niggers  las' 
night ;  and  dat's  whar  dey  all  went." 

"  I  am  afraid  there's  something  worse  than  that  going  on. 
Did  you  hear  any  thing,  Jackson,  of  the  ball  old  Clem  speaks 
about  ?  " 

"  Yes  :  that's  what  some  of  the  chil'en  was  talking  on. 
But  I  don't  b'lieve  it.  Thar's  a  stampede,"  replied  the  over- 
seer. 

"  Stampede !  where  can  they  stampede  to  ?  "  said  the  colonel 
in  contempt,  "iou  must  have  learnt  your  trade  in  Virginia 
or  Kentucky.  They  don't  do  such  things  here.  Now  and 
then  a  boy  runs  away,  and  hides ;  but  it's  only  when  the 
planter  has  such  a  brute  as  you  are  for  overseer.  Come, 
George,"  addressing  his  eldest  son  :  "  let  us  saddle  our  own 
horses,  and  ride  down  towards  town  to  see  what  we  can  dis- 
cover. Will  you  come,  Mr.  Gomery?"  Walter  followed, 
and  took  out  and  saddled,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been 
there,  the  horse  that  had  been  assigned  to  him  whenever  he 
cared  to  ride. 

The  four  were  soon  under  way  at  a  full  gallop  to  the  next 
house  on  the  road  to  the  town  where  lived  an  old  war-vete- 
ran, named  Churchill.  As  they  approached,  they  saw  a  great 
commotion  about  the  premises,  and  at  once  guessed  the 
cause.  The  old  man  was  tearing  about  like  mad,  shaking 
his  long  white  locks,  and  stamping  the  ground  with  a  heavy 
cane,  with  which  he  hit  right  and  left  every  slave  that  came 
within  his  reach,  and  swearing  at  every  thing  in  the  heavens 
above,  the  earth  beneath,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth. 
His  next  neighbor,  from  another  direction,  had  arrived  there 
just  before  Kingsbury;  and  all  three  had  the  same  story  of 
lost  treasures.  They  all  had  the  same  report,  from  their  slaves 
who  were  left,  of  the  great  ball  on  the  other  side  the  ridge. 

Col.  Preston,  a  large  planter,  who  lived  some  eight  miles 
distant,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge,  had  built  during 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  199 

the  season  a  large  storehouse,  and  had  promised  his  slaves 
that  they  should  have  a  grand  Virginia  break-down  when  it 
was  finished.  It  seemed  that  the  night  before  was  the  time 
when  the  ball  was  to  take  place ;  and  it  looked  as  if  there  had 
been  a  great  conspiracy  to  go  off  without  even  letting  the 
masters  or  overseers  know  any  thing  about  it,  as  they  knew 
too  well  that  few  if  any  would  get  leave  if  they  asked  for  it, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  extra  care  would  be  taken  to  prevent 
them  from  going  by  stealth. 

This  solution  of  the  question  that  had  so  excited  them  had 
the  effect  to  somewhat  calm  their  apprehensions ;  but  still,  as 
they  were  not  sure  it  was  the  right  one,  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  anxiety  felt.  "  Here,  Taggard,"  said  Gen.  Churchill 
(every  planter  is  a  general,  or  at  least  a  colonel,  by  cour- 
tesy, though  Churchill  had  once  held  a  commission,  and  "  fit " 
the  Creeks  and  Cherokees),  —  "here,  Taggard,  you  long- 
legged,  lantern -jawed,  knock-kneed,  Yankee-livered  son  of  a 
sea-cook,  jump  on  the  painter  colt,  and  ridej>ver  to  Preston's, 
and  see  if  they  are  there,  or  have  been  there.  Of  course  they 
are  not  there  now,  but  are  sneaking  home  through  the  woods 
and  by-paths.  And,  you  whittling  Yankee,  take  a  pistol ; 
and,  if  you  find  them,  drive  them  as  you  would  a  herd  of  buf- 
faloes. Don't  spare  the  whip,  you  whelp  of  a  dog  hung  for 
sheep-stealing !  .  Don't  spare  the  leather,  I  say ! " 

"  I  ain't  apt  to  do  that,"  said  the  Yankee  as  he  jumped 
upon  the  horse,  and  started  in  a  gallop  up  the  road  leading 
over  the  ridge. 

"Egad!  he'll  make  'em  hop!  "  said  the  old  ruffian.  "He 
has  got  more  grease  in  his  elbow  than  any  overseer  I  ever 
had.  He  likes  the  music  of  his  own  whip.  But  come  in, 
and  let  us  have  some  breakfast." 

The  party  entered  the  house,  where  a  genuine  planter's 
breakfast  was  on  the  board.  It  consisted  of  beefsteak, 
broiled  chicken,  cold  boiled  ham,  roast  sweet-potatoes,  hot 
biscuit,  hot  corn-bread,  and  eggs  both  fried  and  boiled.  The 
coffee  was  dispensed  from  a  huge  silver  coffee-pot,  or  urn, 
that  stood  at  the  right  of  the  hostess,  who  was  some  forty 
years  younger  than  her  lord,  and  looked  as  beautiful  and 
fresh  as  a  rose  on  a  June  morning. 

During  the  breakfast,  the  conversation  naturally  turned  on 
the  subject  of  slave  management;  and  the  host  stoutly  main- 
tained that  there  was  too  much  lenity  shown  in  that  neigh- 
borhood. 


200  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY: 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Churchill,  "  we  are  allowing  our  slaves 
too  many  privileges.  It  only  makes  them  discontented. 
Now,  I  give  my  field-hands  each  his  peck  ol*  meal  and  two 
pounds  of  pork ;  and,  with  my  Yankee  overseer,  I  get  more 
work  out  of  the  same  number  of  hands,  when  they  are  well, 
than  any  man  within  fifty  miles  of  Lancaster  Court  House. 
And  they  are  contented  too :  there  is  nothing  like  plenty  of 
work  to  make  niggers  contented.  If  they  are  called  up  ev- 
ery morning  by  daylight,  and  kept  at  it  till  dark,  and  given 
just  time  to  eat  their  dinner  at  noon,  they  can't  have  time  to 
hatch  mischief.  They  are  always  too  glad  to  get  to  sleep  to 
steal  around  among  the  neighbors'  niggers." 

"  I  know,"  said  Kingsbury,  "  your  hands  give  less  trouble 
than  some  others ;  but  you  use  them  up  faster,  and  are  obliged 
to  buy  others  from  the  North  to  fill  their  places  ;  and  those 
Northern  slaves  that  come  down  this  way  very  often  are  the 
smartest  in  the  country,  and  are  sold  because  they  are  so 
sharp  and  intelligent,  that  their  masters  are  always  afraid  of 
their  running  away  or  plotting  some  mischief." 

"  But  my  slaves  never  run  away,  hard  as  I  am  said  to  use 
'em.  It  has  seemed  to  me,  when  I  have  come  suddenly 
among  them  of  a  Sunday  evening,  they  were  the  most  con- 
tented and  happy  beings  in  the  world.  And  then  I  take 
good  care  to  tell  them,  that,  if  any  one  of  them  were  to  get 
North,  he  would  be  starved  to  death,  and  froze  to  death  after- 
wards ;  and  then  I  make  it  a  rule  once  in  three  months  to  in- 
vite Parson  Southside  to  come  home  with  me  after  service ; 
and  then  all  the  servants  are  gathered  together  in  the  even- 
ing, and  he  talks  to  them  most  affectionately,  and  tells 
them  the  mercy  of  the  Lord  in  granting  them  so  many  bless- 
ings when  their  poor  brethren  of  the  North  are  starving 
to  death  by  hundreds,  and,  besides,  have  not  the  consolations 
of  the  gospel  to  cheer  them,  but  all  go  to  the  bad  place. 
And  when  I  have  heard  him  describe  the  fate  of  the  poor 
deluded  wretches  who  have  been  beguiled  away  by  the 
wicked  abolitionists,  who  were  only  doing  the  Devil's  work 
getting  them  away  from  their  happy  homes  to  whip  them  to 
death,  and  then  turn  them  over  to  their  master,  Satan,  to  be 
roasted  for  ever  and  ever,  it  has  made  me  laugh,  in  spite  of 
myself,  to  hear  the  poor  wretches  cry  out,  '  O  Lord !  save  us 
from  Satan  and  save  us  from  the  abolitions ! '  And  the  old 
preacher,  Pompey,  beats  'em  all  hollering;   and,  when  he 


A  FAMILY   HISTORY.  201 

preaches  himself,  he  always  warns  his  woolly  audience  to 
shun  the  way  of  Satan  and  the  abolitionists." 

"  I  always  thought  that  Parson  Southside  was  a  great 
hypocrite,"  said  Kingsbury. 

After  the  breakfast  was  finished,  and  each  one  had  smoked 
his  cigar,  as  it  was  supposed  that  Taggard  would  not  proba- 
bly return  before  noon,  the  company  dispersed,  each  going  to 
his  own  home. 

But,  before  eleven  o'clock,  the  news  came  up  from  the  vil- 
lage that  slaves  were  missing  from  almost  every  house ;  and 
no  one  knew  whither  they  had  gone.  Those  left  behind  in- 
variably spoke  of  them  as  gone  to  the  great  ball  at  Col.  Pres- 
ton's; and  at  least  half  a  dozen  couriers  had  been  sent  out, 
not  only  to  Preston's,  but  in  every  other  direction  ;  and  not  a 
word  could  be  heard  of  one  of  the  missing  chattels. 

As  soon  as  this  news  arrive^,  every  man,  planter,  and  over- 
seer alike,  hurried  to  town,  where  was  a  greater  commotion 
than  had  ever  been  seen  there  before.  The  whole  population 
was  in  the  streets  ;  a*hd  they  could  scarcely  have  shown  more 
consternation  and  excitement  had  the  bombardment  of  the 
town  been  hourly  expected.  About  five  minutes  before  the 
arrival  of  Col.  Kingsbury  and  his  party,  of  whom  Walter  was 
one,  the  messenger,  who  had  been  despatched  to  Preston's 
plantation  to  learn  if  the  missing  property  had  been  seen  at 
the  great  ball,  had  returned,  and  reported  that  not  one  of  them 
had  been  there  the  night  before ;  but  so  far  from  it,  that  four 
of  Col.  Preston's  best  hands,  two  of  the  Widow  Plunkett's, 
and  five  of  Capt.  Strother's,  both  neighbors  of  Col.  Pres- 
ton, were  missing. 

Not  until  this  moment  had  it  occurred  to  any  one  in  the 
crowd,  except  Walter,  that  perhaps  the  fugitives  had  escaped 
by  way  of  the  river.  Now,  however,  it  was  evident  that  such 
must  have  been  the  case;  and  a  warehouse-man,  whose  build- 
ing stood  fronting  the  main  street,  —  where  the  crowd  was 
thickest,  —  and  extending  back  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  ran 
to  look  from  a  rear  window,  and,  behold !  the  "  Good  Intent," 
which  had  not  before  been  missed,  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 
Rushing  back  to  the  front-door,  he  shouted  out,  "  They  have 
gone  off  on  the  Yankee  schooner,  the  i  Good  Intent' !  "  This 
caused  a  rush  round  the  corner  of  the  warehouse,  and  towards 
the  bank  or  bluff  where  the  "  Good  Intent "  had  been  moored : 
but  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  her ;  and  the  crowd  returned 


202  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

to  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  great  was  the  tumult  and  com- 
motion. The  attention  of  the  mob  —  for  it  was  now  little 
better  than  a  mob  —  was  soon  turned  on  Walter,  whom  Col. 
Kingsbury  had  begun  to  question  about  his  friend  Capt. 
Dykes.  But,  to  the  great  relief  of  both,  a  stable-keeper  pres- 
ent said  Capt.  Dykes  had  hired  a  horse  and  buggy  of  him, 
leaving  their  value  in  money,  the  day  before,  to  go  up  into 
the  back  country  to  see  a  relation  of  his;  and  he  believed  the 
niggers  had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  steal  his  vessel. 

"And  I  hearn  his  mate  say,"  said  a  man  named  Riley, "  that 
he  was  such  a  quarrelsome  old  cuss,  that  he  and  all  the  hands 
had  left  him,  and  shipped  on  board  the  '  Wild  Drake.' " 

"It  is  no  time  now  to  talk  about  how  they  got  off  so  slyly. 
The  thing  now  is  to  catch  'em,"  cried  the  captain  of  the  lit- 
tle steamboat,  the  "Lady  Berrien,"  that  plied  between  Lancas- 
ter and  the  towns  above,  and  that  had  unexpectedly  arrived 
that  morning.  "  They  haven't  got  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
hours'  start ;  and  we  will  catch  them  yet." 

"That  is  the  kind  of  talk,"  said  old  Churchill.  "Here's 
the  *  Lady  Berrien  '  arrived  just  in  time  to  catch  them ;  and 
it's  no  doubt  a  special  providence  that  sent  her  down  just  now. 
Cap'n  Webber,  how  soon  can  you  be  off?  " 

"  In  an  hour,  if  I'm  only  paid  for  the  service." 

"  Is  this  a  time  to  talk  of  price,  you  son  of  a  sea-cook !  when 
our  lives,  our  liberty,  our  institutions,  are  in  danger?"  cried 
Churchill,  shaking  his  head  fiercely,  and  stamping  the  earth 
with  his  cane.  "  Be  off,  and  catch  them !  and  I  will  be  respon- 
sible for  all  damage  and  costs.  How'  soon  can  you  be  off, 
you  money  loving  skip-jack?" 

"  The  fires  are  up  now.  I'll  be  ready  as  soon  as  you  can 
get  a  company  aboard  large  enough  to  capture  the  ungrateful 
wretches.  If  we  overtake  them,  they  will  fight  like  devils 
before  they  surreiMer,  and  very  likely  they've  got  arms 
aboard." 

"  Ay,  you're  right,"  said  Churchill.  "  Boys,  come  on :  get 
all  your  guns  and  pistols,  and  let  us  be  off!  I  will  lead  you," 
said  the  old  man,  shaking  his  white  locks,  and  assuming  the 
command  in  every  thing.  "  We  must  take  the  field-pieces  of 
the  Calhoun  Blues,  besides  the  little  swivels  on  board  the 
*  Lady  Berrien.'  Let  us  take  care  that  we  are  the  whales, 
not  Jonahs.     Every  man  to  his  duty  ! " 

Those  of  the  crowd  who  lived  near  by,  and  had  arms  at 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  203 

home,  hurried  off  to  bring  them  ;  and  soon  every  gun,  rifle, 
and  pistol,  that  had  not  been  previously  appropriated  by  the 
fugitives,  was  brought  forth  to  do  service  in  the  impending 
naval  battle.  The  pursuers  hastily  embarked,  and  the  "Lady 
Berrien"  swung  round  from  the  old  hulk  to  which  she  had 
been  moored  as  a  wharf.  Gen.  Churchill,  by  tacit  consent, 
took  the  command  of  the  party,  consisting  of  about  a  hun- 
dred of  the  chivalrous  sons  of  the  South,  all  panting  for  ac- 
tion, honor,  and  immortal  glory,  and  well  provided  with  fire- 
arms, bowie-knives,  and  ammunition,  both  to  charge  their 
weapons,  and  to  fortify  their  courage.  Their  general  had  fore- 
seen that  the  latter  kind  would  be  in  demand,  and  sent  on 
board  a  cask  of  the  best  Monongahela  whiskey. 


204  GO'mERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

"  God's  arm  be  with  us!  'tis  a  fearful  odds."  —  Henry  V. 

Unobserved  and  silent,  Walter  Goraery  went  on  board 
the  "  Lady  Berrien  "  with  the  crowd.  What  purpose  could  he 
have  had  to  subserve  ?  Surely,  after  what  he  had  said  to 
Capt.  Dykes,  he  would  not  turn  slave-catcher,  or  be  one  of 
a  party  engaged  in  hunting  down  men  flying  from  bondage ! 
What,  then,  was  his  object?     We  shall  see. 

The  "  Lady  Berrien  "  moved  rapidly  down  the  stream.  The 
passengers  were  busy  scouring,  cleaning,  and  loading  their 
weapons,  not  forgetting  to  charge  their  stomachs  with  the 
Monongahela.  Walter  went  on  the  hurricane-deck,  and 
walked  back  and  forth,  absorbed  in  deep  reflection.  An  ill- 
looking,  heavily-whiskered  ruffian  (who,  nevertheless,  was  a 
rich  planter,  and  none  other  than  the  Col.  Preston  wno  had 
given  the  great  ball  the  night  before)  was  eying  him  omi- 
nously; which  observing,  he  went  below,  and  procured  from 
young  Kingsbury  an  old  king's-arm  blunderbuss,  with  which 
he  paraded  himself,  predicting  that  the  ungrateful  scoundrels 
would  never  get  away.  Col.  Kingsbury,  who  witnessed  this, 
came  up  to  him,  and  said  in  an  undertone,  "  Mr.  Gomery,  I 
never  thought  to  see  you  in  such  disgraceful  business ! " 

"  See  the  end  before  you  condemn,"  replied  Walter. 

The  bit  of  acting  resorted  to  by  Walter  speedily  allayed 
the  suspicion  of  Whiskerando ;  who  then  mounted  a  stool, 
and  proposed  to  have  an  organized  meeting.  "Now  is  the 
time,"  said  he,  "to  consider  what  we  are  to  do  with  these 
cussed,  ongrateful  runaways." 

"  Catch  'em  fust,"  said  a  small,  squeaking  voice. 

"  Catch  em  ?  Of  course  we  shall.  Cap'n,  look  a'  here ! 
Do  you  see  this  revolver?  Do  you  see  this  here  institution? 
If  you  don't  catch  'em,  you  may  know  what  to  expect." 

The  captain,  who  was  a  quick-spoken,  sharp-voiced,  brave 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  205 

little  game-cock,  stepped  forward,  and  snid,  "  Gentlemen,  I  am 
not  to  be  bullied  on  my  own  boat.  We  are  carrying  now 
all  the  steam  it  is  safe  to  carry ;  but  if  this  big  bully  wants 
to  carry  more,  though  I  think  he  has  got  about  as  much 
in  his  own  biler  as  he  can  carry  without  busting,  he  can  go 
down  and  feed  the  fires,  or  set  on  the  escape-valve." 

"  Ay,  ay :  the  cap'n's  right,"  said  old  Churchill.  "  No  in- 
terference ! " 

"At  this  rate,"  said  the  captain,  "we  will  make  the  mouth 
of  the  river  before  sunset ;  and  I  don't  believe  they  can  get 
out  to  sea  before  then,  for  the  wind  has  been  light  and  flawy 
all  day.  If  they  do  get  off,  it  shall  not  be  my  fault,  nor  that 
of  the  '  Lady  Berrien.' " 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Whiskerando.  "I  have  a  proposition 
to  make.  I  see  the  owners  of  all  or  nearly  all  the  runaways 
on  board.  Now,  it  won't  do  at  all  to  let  any  of  them  remain 
in  this  part  of  the  country  after  they  are  captured.  They 
have  got  their  heads  full  of  notions  of  freedom,  and  will  be 
putting  all  the  other  slaves  up  to  mischief.  They  are  bent 
on  running  away ;  and  we  may  lick  the  life  e'en  a'most  out 
on  'em,  and  they  will  still  try  to  get  away.  They  are  the 
most  ongrateful  critters !  I  move,  therefore,  that  they  all  be 
kept  in  prison  till  they  are  sold  to  be  taken  to  Missippi  or 
Lusiana,  and  each  one  to  have  a  hundred  lashes  a  day 
until  they  are  sold,  and  fed  only  on  rice  and  water.  The  ring- 
leaders will,  of  course,  all  be  hanged  ;  for  the  State  will  pay 
us  for  them." 

"  Yes,  yes !  that  is  fust-rate,  'specially  the  last  part,"  said 
Riley. 

"  But  I  never  sold  a  slave  in  my  life,"  said  Kingsbury,  "  and 
have  said  a  thousand  times  I  never  would." 

"But  the  public  safety,  the  public  safety!  have  you  no 
patriotism  ?  "  said  Preston,  who  knew  better  than  to  act  the 
bully  towards  a  man  of  Kingsbury's  wealth  and  influence. 

"  I  am  not  to  be  taught  my  duty  by  a  man  of  your  sort," 
replied  Kingsbury  testily.  "I  have  at  least  six  slaves  on 
board  the  schooner,  worth  a  thousand  dollars  apiece ;  and 
what  have  you  got  ?  " 

"  I  have  got  four  of  the  smartest  boys  in  the  county,  two 
of 'em  three-quarters  white,"  said  whiskers;  "and  I'll  bet 
two  to  one  that  the  whole  thing  was  hatched  up  by  them,  as 
there  ain't  no  others  in  these  parts  smart  enough  to  do  it. 

VOL.   II.  18 


206  GOMERY    OP   MONTGOMERY: 

Fact  is,  they  look  a  little  like  me.  But  I  offer  to  give  'em 
all  up  to  be  hanged  if  they  are  proved  to  be  the  ringleaders." 

"  Yes ;  and  the  State  must  pay  for  them,  and  all  the  rest  of 
us  be  taxed  to  raise  the  money,"  muttered  Kingsbury. 

"  It  is  a  fair  proposition,"  said  Churchill.     "  Put  the  vote." 

"  All  in  favor  will  hold  up  their  hands,"  said  Preston. 

Every  hand  was  raised,  except  that  of  Kingsbury  and 
Walter.  These  two  were  now  standing  a  little  apart,  convers- 
ing in  a  low  tone.  "  You  see,"  said  the  elder,  "  who  it  is  that 
prevails  in  a  crowd  of  this  kind.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  yield  ; 
and,  if  we  overtake  the  schooner,  all  my  boys  will  either  be 
hanged,  or  I  shall  be  forced  to  sell  them  to  go  farther  south 
or  west.  In  fact,  I  shall  not  shed  a  tear  if  they  all  escape. 
I  never  blame  a  slave  for  escaping;  and  to  hang  them  for  it, 
in  my  mind,  is  no  better  than  murder ;  and  I  don't  choose  to 
carry  a  dead  hand  as  the  price  of  blood." 

Walter  turned  away,  and  went  upon  the  upper  deck,  where 
he  found  the  crowd  getting  more  and  more  noisy  and  quar- 
relsome, as  the  Monongahela  ran  free  to  all.  The  talk  was 
loud  and  profane ;  and  the  captain,  who  stood  alongside  of 
the  pilot-house,  was  anxiously  looking  for  the  schooner.  It 
was  now  but  a  short  distance  to  the  open  sea ;  and,  if  he  failed 
to  overtake  the  schooner,  the  drunken  crowd  would  very 
likely  turn  upon  him  (as  he  had  been  guilty  of  a  Northern 
birth),  and  maltreat  him,  and  deface,  if  not  ruin,  his  boat. 
Besides,  he  knew  no  money  would  be  paid  unless  the  fugi- 
tives were  caught. 

In  the  mean  while,  Walter  was  pacing  the  deck,  deeply 
absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts ;  and  thus  he  reasoned  with 
himself:  — 

"  Here  are  more  than  a  hundred  fugitives  from  bondage 
on  the  point  of  escaping.  An  accident  that  should  delay 
the  steamer  (the  breaking  of  a  pipe  or  connecting-rod,  or 
any  derangement  of  the  machinery  that  should  cause  an 
hour's  delay)  would  insure  freedom  to  them  all.  Is  there  no 
power  in  heaven  to  do  it?  No,  none:  man's  devices  are  to 
be  circumvented  by  man's  devices.  These  poor  wretches 
have  the  same  right  to  their  liberty  that  I  have ;  and  those 
that  pursue  them  are  but  thieves  and  robbers.  To  rob  an 
equal  is  theft ;  to  rob  an  inferior  is  a  meaner  theft ;  and  yet 
the  whole  system  of  slavery  is  based  on  this  principle  of 
robbing  the  weak  because  they  are  weak,  and  are  powerless 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  207 

to  protect  themselves.  Shall  I  be  a  party  to  such  an  act? 
No!  Shall  I  look  passively  on,  and  not  try  to  prevent  it? 
No !  Come  what  will,  my  duty  is  to  risk  myself  and  all  I  have 
to  avert  their  impending  fate.  Of  course,  they  will  put  mc 
to  death;  of  course,  I  shall  die  like  a  felon  or  a  dog;  and 
word  will  be  sent  forth  to  the  world  through  the  newspapers, 
so  colored  as  to  make  my  name  detestable,  and  perhaps 
cause  my  own  kindred  to  disown  me.  But  father  or  mother 
will  believe  never  a  word  to  my  prejudice.  They  cannot  be 
made  to  think  evil  of  me;  and  for  the  rest  of  the  world,  what 
is  their  opinion  to  me,  compared  with  my  duty  ?  Men  have 
often  died  before  for  the  sake  of  their  fellow-men  and  glory; 
but  to  me  is  presented  the  bitter  cup  of  death  and  infamy ; 
Well,  so  be  it!  I  accept  the  chalice;  I  am  a  coward  else. 
My  duty  is  clear.  My  life  is  of  little  value  compared  with 
that  of  all  these  poor  fugitives,  who  are  seeking  that  life  and 
liberty  which  God  intended  for  them  as  well  as  me.  If  they 
escape,  each  will  be  a  missionary  to  arouse  the  people  of  the 
North  to  a  sense  of  the  horrors  of  the  accursed  system 
which  they  now  passively  approve  and  actively  support. 
Each  life  thus  may  be  of  more  value  than  mine.  What, 
then,  but  fear  and  selfishness  restrain  me?  The  case  is 
clear:  why,  then,  argue  it?  No  more:  down,  thoughts  of 
self!  You  owe  your  life  to  God  ;  and  his  work  it  is  to  save 
your  fellow-creatures.  Duty,  duty!  and  leave  the  results 
with  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well." 

While  thus  meditating,  Walter  had  been  walking  up  and 
down  the  hurricane-deck,  stopping  for  a  moment  each  turn 
as  he  came  near  the  engine,  and  looking  at  the  two  pieces 
of  a  broken  spar  that  were  lying  on  the  deck  between  the 
walking-beam  and  the  wheel-house.  The  boat  was  moving 
with  great  rapidity,  and  the  interest  of  the  slave-hunters 
was  at  its  highest  pitch.  The  sun  was  getting  low,  and  they 
were  fast  nearing  the  mouth  of  the  river;  and  the  breeze  was 
freshening  fast,  so  that  it  would  never  do  to  follow  the 
schooner  beyond  the  headlands. 

Walter  does  not  dare  to  look  ahead  where  all  other  eyes 
are  turned,  for  fear  of  beholding  the  unwelcome  sight  of  the 
fugitive  vessel.  But  a  shout  from  the  others  announces  but 
too  clearly  that  the  schooner  is  in  sight.  With  a  sickening 
sense  he  turns  his  head,  and  sees  her  not  more  than  half  a 
mile  in  advance.     Rounding  a  point,  the  steamboat  had  come 


208  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

almost  full  upon  her.  An  hour  more  would  have  saved  them, 
for  the  open  sea  was  in  sight;  and,  with  the  approaching 
darkness  and  gathering  breeze,  they  never  would  have  ad- 
ventured the  "  Lady  Berrien  "  on  the  rising  ocean. 

"  It's  lucky  the  wind  didn't  spring  up  earlier,"  said  Gen. 
Churchill.  "It's  a  special  providence,  such  as  Parson  South- 
side  is  always  prophesying  for  the  righteous.  It  shows  which 
side  the  Lord's  on,  at  any  rate." 

The  steamer  fast  neared  the  schooner,  the  deck  of  which 
was  covered  with  the  despairing  fugitives.  At  sight  of  the 
approaching  capturers  brandishing  their  weapons,  many  of 
the  frightened  wretches  fell  on  their  knees ;  though  it  could 
be  seen  that  the  old  preacher,  Pompey,  was  urging  them  to 
put  off  their  praying,  and  prepare  to  fight. 

"Ah,  ha!"  said  old  Churchill :  "you  old  hypocrite,  you! 
This  is  the  way  you  want  to  be  saved  from  the  abolitionists,  is 
it  ?  It's  no  use  your  praying  if  you  get  into  my  hands  again. 
The  Lord  don't  hear  the  prayers  of  runaways.  It's  only  those 
servants  that  obey  their  masters  that  the  Lord  ever  listens  to." 

Walter  stood  on  the  front  quarter  of  the  deck,  looking  ea- 
gerly at  the  unhappy  sight  before  him.  Old  Lindsey  Woolsey 
could  be  distinctly  seen  at  the  helm  ;  and  his  voice  could  be 
heard  above  the  plashing  of  the  waters,  the  snorting  of  the  en- 
gine, and  the  shouts  of  the  slave-hunters,  calling  on  his  com- 
panions to  fight,  and  they  would  yet  escape. 

The  schooner  was  now  so  near  the  broad  mouth  of  the 
river,  that  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  working  her;  and  the 
breeze,  now  fresh  and  steady,  bore  her  along  at  a  speed  almost 
as  great  as  that  of  the  steamer. 

"  They  can't  board  us  unless  we  lay  to ! "  shouted  Lindsey 
Woolsey.  "  So  courage,  and  liberty  will  be  yours !  They 
will  never  shoot  thousand-dollar  niggers." 

The  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  was  now  heard,  and  Lindsey 
Woolsey  was  seen  to  fall  back  from  the  helm ;  but  he  in- 
stantly sprang  forward,  and  caught  it  again  with  his  left  hand, 
his  right  hanging  shattered  and  powerless  by  his  side. 

"  Hit  the  black  scoundrel  again !  "  roared  out  old  Churchill : 
"he's  free,  and  they  can't  steer  the  "  — 

But  just  at  that  instant  a  tremendous  crash  was  heard  be- 
hind them.  Their  first  idea  was  the  boiler  had  burst ;  and 
Churchill,  Whiskerando,  and  about  half  the  rest,  fell  on  their 
knees:  but,  as  they  saw  neither  steam  nor  smoke,  they  con- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  209 

eluded  the  danger  was  not  so  imminent,  and  jumped  up,  and 
began  to  swear  as  usual.  They  looked  to  see  what  the  disas- 
ter was;  and,  behold!  some  one,  evidently  not  on  the  Lord's 
side,  had  thrown  one  of  the  pieces  of  broken  spar  under  the 
end  of  the  walking-beam,  so  that,  when  it  came  down,  it  struck 
it  with  such  force  as  to  smash  through  the  deck  at  the  same 
time  that  the  shaft  snapped  in  two  like  a  pipe-stem. 

The  noise  was  heard  on  board  the  schooner,  now  just  along- 
side of  the  steamboat.  Lindsey  Woolsey  gave  a  shout  of 
defiance,  brandishing  his  left  arm  at  the  pursuers,  who  were 
now  thinking  more  of  their  own  safety  than  of  catching  run- 
aways. The  steamer,  impelled  by  the  momentum  she  had 
before  acquired,  drove  past  the  schooner,  that  yielded  to  her 
helm,  bore  down  to  the  leeward,  and  was  soon  beyond  rifle- 
shot. The  "  Lady  Berrien  "  lay  helpless  on  the  water ;  and 
the  "  Good  Intent "  had  escaped. 

18* 


210  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 


CHAPTER     XV. 

"  Why,  man,  they  did  make  love  to  this  employment. 
They  are  not  near  my  conscience :  their  defeat 
Does  by  their  own  insinuations  grow."  —  Hamlet. 

All  had  been  looking  intently  at  the  schooner  at  the  time 
that  Walter  Gomery,  taking  advantage  of  the  upward  stroke 
of  the  walking-beam,  had  thrust  the  broken  spar  into  such  a 
position,  that,  on  the  downward  stroke,  it  should  disable  the 
engine.  The  instant  it  was  in  its  place,  he  sprung  lightly  and 
unobserved  to  the  side  of  the  vessel ;  and,  by  the  time  the 
crash  came,  he  was  at  the  railing,  looking  as  intently  as  any 
one  towards  the  schooner,  that  was  still  leading  off  before  the 
breeze  in  gallant  style.  Lindsey  Woolsey  was  still  holding 
the  helm,  assisted  by  preaching  Pompey ;  the  two  being  pro- 
tected by  a  wall  of  the  most  valuable  negroes,  who  knew 
they  were  too  valuable  to  be  shot,  and  who  formed  so  perfect 
a  shield  to  Lindsey,  that  no  ball  could  reach  him  without 
destroying  at  least  two  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  human 
property.  But  the  crash  caused  all  on  board  the  steamer  to 
turn  their  eyes  to  the  rear;  and  the  captain,  who  at  once  saw 
there  was  no  explosion,  and  probably  no  danger,  as  he  turned 
and  saw  Preston,  or  Whiskerando,  on  his  knees,  cried  out  to 
him,  "Get  off  your  marrow-bones,  you  cowardly  bully!  there 
is  no  danger.     Don't  you  see  the  steam  is  blowing  off?  " 

Looking  down  through  the  opening  in  the  deck  through 
which  the  connecting-rod  of  the  walking-beam  with  the  piston 
played,  they  saw  the  battered  fragments  of  the  spar,  and  at 
once  comprehended  the  cause  of  this  disaster,  so  flatly  in  the 
face  of  special  providence.  They  looked  aghast  as  they  be- 
held the  ruin  it  had  caused ;  and  as  they  cast  their  eyes  in 
another  direction,  and  saw  the  "Good  Intent"  driving  fist 
out  to  sea,  the  volleys  of  curses  and  oaths  uttered  were  enough 
to  have  sunk  her,  had  she  not  been  a  taut-built  craft. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  211 

The  "Good  Intent,"  Lindsey  Woolsey,  master,  has  sailed, 
bearing  a  hundred  and  fifteen  human  souls,  let  us  hope,  to 
freedom  and  to  happiness.  Walter  Gomery  has  served  them, 
in  all  probability,  at  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life.  Not  only 
that,  but,  as  the  popular  opinion  then  was,  his  death  must  be 
infamous.  He  cannot  even  have  the  poor  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  the  escaped  fugitives  will  thank  him:  on  the 
contrary,  he  was  sure  that  Lindsey  Woolsey  had  seen  him 
among  the  pursuers ;  and  after  the  shot  was  fired,  and  the  ves- 
sels were  near  each  other,  he  saw  the  enraged  negro  shake 
the  fist  of  his  undamaged  arm  towards  him,  and  heard  him  cry 
out,  "  That  cursed  Yankee  has  betrayed  us ! "  Others  heard 
the  same  remark,  but  supposed  it  referred  to  the  captain  of 
the  "  Lady  Berrien,"  who  was  also  a  Yankee ;  at  which  that 
enterprising  individual  instantly  advanced  a  hundred  per  cent 
in  their  estimation.  It  was  after  this  that  the  plan  he  had 
before  matured  was  carried  into  effect.  Those  whom  he  was 
to  save  had  wronged  him  through  ignorance,  and  he  blamed 
them  not.  His  duty  was  not  the  less  clear.  Had  not  Christ 
died  for  his  enemies  ?  What  though  those  he  was  to  die  for 
were  cursing  him  in  their  hearts?  It  was  through  ignorance; 
and  that  sin  "  God  winked  at." 

Walter  had  seated  himself,  after  the  catastrophe,  on  one  of 
the  seats  that  ran  round  the  railing  of  the  deck.  The  cry 
was,  "Who  did  it V" 

"  I  know  who  done  it,"  said  a  voice  from  below. 

"  Come  up,  then  ! "  cried  the  captain. 

The  order  was  obeyed  with  alacrity ;  and  a  tall,  finely 
formed  mulatto,  a  waiter  on  the  boat,  came  bounding  up  the 
stairs. 

"Mind  what  you  say,  now,"  said  Col.  Kingsbury,  while  his 
face  blanched  and  his  voice  quivered  ;  for  he  was  almost  as 
sure  who  had  done  the  deed  as  though  he  had  seen  it. 
"  Mind  you  don't  accuse  the  wrong  man :  if  you  do,  you  will 
be  hanged." 

"  Be  hanged ! "  said  the  slave  with  a  sneer  of  contempt : 
"  who  was  ever  hanged  for  accusing  a  Yankee  ?  Thar,  that's 
him  thar  on  the  bench,  —  that  schoolmaster."  The  eyes  of 
all  were  turned  on  Walter,  who  sat  as  unmoved,  and  appar- 
ently as  calm,  as  a  statue. 

The  first  to  speak  was  Gen.  Churchill.  "You  did  this 
awful  crime,  did  you,  you  cowardly  infidel,  you  white-livered 


212  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

thief,  you  imp  of  Satan  !"  at  the  last  words,  making  a  motion 
to  strike  him  with  his  cane,  which  was  arrested  by  Kings- 
bury. "Take  that!"  said  Preston,  striking  him  a  heavy 
blow  in  the  face  that  nearly  knocked  him  from  his  seat,  and 
immediately  drawing  his  revolver. 

"  They  have  escaped,"  mildly  answered  Walter. 

"  Ay,  they  have !  "  said  Whiskerando,  discharging  his  pis- 
tol. But  the  motion  of  the  ruffian  had  been  seen  by  Kings- 
bury, who  endeavored  to  prevent  it:  but,  instead  of  that,  the 
pistol  was  knocked  aside  accidentally  by  Churchill,  who  was 
raising  his  cane  to  strike  a  second  time  ;  and,  instead  of  hit- 
ting Walter,  the  ball  went  through  the  heart  of  the  mulatto 
waiter. 

"  Better  luck  next  time  ! "  said  the  planter,  cocking,  and 
firing  again.  This  time  the  ball  entered  the  shoulder  of 
Walter,  who  fell  forward  on  the  deck. 

"  Cowardly  assassin  !  "  cried  old  Churchill,  enraged  at  the 
firing  into  a  crowd,  nor  yet  believing  in  such  deliberate  mur- 
der ;  for,  brutal  and  overbearing  as  the  slave  practice  had 
made  him,  he  still  had  some  notions  of  fair-play.  The  old 
man  stepped  forward  to  raise  up  Walter,  and  to  protect  him, 
if  need  be,  from  further  indignity  or  harm.  With  the  assist- 
ance of  Kingsbury  and  others,  he  was  carried  below,  and 
placed  on  a  sofa  in  the  ladies'  saloon.  Some  were  so  en- 
raged, that  they  did  not  wish  him  to  escape  by  a  merciful 
and  sudden  death  ;  others,  more  hasty,  only  regretted  that 
the  ball  had  not  been  through  the  heart. 

Meanwhile  the  "  Lady  Berrien  "  had  been  drifting,  or  rather 
driven,  before  the  wind.  Fortunate  it  was  for  those  aboard 
of  her  that  there  was  a  wind;  for  had  there  been  none,  or 
had  it  been  in  a  contrary  direction,  or  had  not  a  new  spar 
been  rigged  in  place  of  the  one  that  was  broken  a  few  days 
before,  they  must  all  inevitably  have  been  carried  out  to  sea ; 
and  a  river  steamboat,  drawing  three  feet  and  a  half  of 
water,  with  a  fresh  and  freshening  breeze,  could  not  long 
keep  afloat  on  the  billowy  Atlantic.  But  fortunately,  or,  as 
our  friend  Whiskerando  would  say,  through  a  special  provi- 
dence, the  wind  was  blowing  fresh  from  the  south,  —  a  wind 
that  came  quartering  on  the  schooner ;  and  so,  instead  of 
drifting  out  to  sea,  the  "  Lady  Berrien  "  was  driven  hard  and 
fast  against  the  left  bank  of  the  river,  where  she  was  made 
fast  to  the  roots  of  a  huge  sycamore-tree. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  213 

It  was  after  sundown  when  the  "  Lady  Berrien  "  struck  the 
bank ;  and  the  baffled  rage  of  the  crowd  had  been  growing 
more  and  more  furious ;  so  that,  but  for  an  incident  that  hap- 
pened a  few  minutes  before  she  struck,  it  had  been  doubtful 
whether  Walter  would  have  been  allowed  to  leave  the  boat 
alive.  After  Walter  had  been  laid  in  the  cabin  below, 
Churchill  returned  on  deck ;  and  he  and  Preston  got  into  a 
violent  dispute  in  regard  to  the  negro  who  had  been  shot. 
He  was  the  property  of  Churchill,  and  was  supposed  to  have 
a  nearer  relation  to  him  than  that  even;  and  had  been  hired 
to  the  captain  of  the  "  Lady  Berrien "  as  head  waiter  and 
steward.  He  was  valued,  at  the  least,  at  two  thousand  dol- 
lars. Churchill  swore  that  the  other  should  pay  for  him ; 
but  the  other  answered  back  that  he  was  a  selfish  old  churl, 
without  a  spark  of  patriotism,  or  else,  under  such  circum- 
stances, he  would  never  ask  for  pay.  He  was  only  trying  to 
do  his  duty  when  he  accidentally  shot  him  instead  of  the 
Yankee  who  had  caused  all  the  trouble ;  and,  if  the  old  man 
hadn't  been  an  abolitionist  at  heart,  he  would  never  ask  for  a 
cent  of  compensation. 

To  be  called  an  abolitionist  was  too  much  for  the  still 
fiery  blood  of  the  old  Cavalier.  He  might  have  been  called 
a  thief,  and  have  answered  the  charge  with  oaths  and 
threats ;  or  he  might  have  been  accused  of  selling  his  own 
children  to  grace  the  harems  of  Mobile  and  Savannah,  and 
he  would  have  laughed  at  it.  But  to  be  called  an  abolition- 
ist! —  he! — Archibald  Churchill,  a  descendant  of  the  old 
Cavaliers,  first  cousin  to  two  Ex-Governors,  brother-in-law 
to  a  United-States  senator,  and  father-in-law  to  a  mem- 
ber of  Congress,  —  to  have  a  charge  so  infamous  brought 
against  him  was  too  much  foi  human  nature  to  bear.  Quick 
as  a  flash,  his  heavy  cane  lighted  on  the  sconce  of  the  auda- 
cious slanderer,  and  knocked  him  senseless  on  the  floor. 

This  incident  diverted  the  attention  of  all  from  Walter  for 
several  minutes,  —  save  only  Col.  Kingsbury,  who  kept  near 
him  all  the  while,  and,  as  soon  as  the  boat  was  fast  to  the 
bank,  hurried  him,  with  the  help  of  some  of  the  boat-hands, 
on  shore.  There  were  several  carriages  waiting  near  the 
bank  where  they  landed,  as  the  singular  manoeuvres  of  the 
two  vessels  had  attracted  the  notice  of  people  on  shore,  sev- 
eral of  whom  had  followed  the  road  along  the  river's  bank 
to  see  what  it  all  meant. 


214  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

Walter's  wound  was  not  so  severe  but  that  he  was  able, 
with  the  assistance  of  Kingsbury  and  the  black  servants  of 
the  boat,  to  ascend  the  bank.  Among  the  carriages  standing, 
there  was  one  farm-wagon,  in  which  sat  the  driver,  a  middle- 
aged  negro,  who  had  stopped,  and  was  looking  curiously  at 
the  unusual  scene.  Without  ceremony,  Walter  was  lifted 
into  this  hard-jolting  vehicle,  and  laid  flat  on  the  floor;  and 
Kingsbury,  taking  his  seat  beside  the  driver,  told  him  to 
drive  on. 

"  Whar  to  ?  "  asked  the  slave. 

"  To  your  master's." 

"  Massa  aren't  to  home." 

"  So  much  the  better :  drive  on,"  said  Kingsbury ;  at  the 
same  time  catching  the  whip,  and  belaboring  the  flanks  of 
the  horses.     "  Who  is  your  master  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Caperton,  up  on  the  Point." 

"  Why,  that's  half-way  up  to  Lancaster. 

"  Yes,  massa;  but  it's  on  the  ole  road  :  its  much  furder  than 
the  new  road." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  he,  looking  anxiously  behind 
him,  and  then  plying  the  whip  with  renewed  vigor.  He 
knew,  that,  as  soon  as  the  crowd  perceived  that  Walter  had 
been  spirited  away,  pursuit  would  instantly  be  made ;  and 
his  object  was  to  get  up  to  the  point  where  the  new  road 
forked  off  from  the  old;  and  as  the  latter  was  never  travelled 
now,  except  by  those  having  business  at  one  or  the  other 
of  the  three  plantations  situated  on  what  was  called  the 
"  Point,"  —  so  called  from  the  bend  in  the  river,  —  he  would 
thus  probably  escape  his  pursuers.  The  latter  would  proba- 
bly think  he  had  made  directly  for  home,  and  by  the  shortest 
route;  nor  would  they  ascertain  their  mistake  until  the 
drunken  excitement  they  were  now  in  would  have  time  to 
wear  off.  If  they  were  to  get  hold  of  Walter  that  night, 
Kingsbury  had  too  good  reason  to  believe  that  the  morning 
sun  would  show  him  dangling  from  the  branch  of  a  sycamore 
or  magnolia  by  the  road-side. 

The  darkness  favored  the  flight;  and,  as  had  been  foreseen, 
the  pursuers  all  took  the  direct  road  to  Lancaster,  leaving 
Kingsbury  to  find  his  way  during  the  night  as  best  he  might. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  before  the  farm-wagon  reached  the 
Caperton  Plantation,  from  which  the  family  was  absent ;  the 
place  being  left  in  charge  of  a  nephew  of  the  owner,  who 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  215 

was  a  young  man  well  known  to  Col.  Kingsbury.  They 
drove  up  to  the  front  of  the  house,  and  were  hailed  from  a 
chamber  window  by  a  voice  calling  out,  "  Who  is  there  ?  " 

«  Halloo  !  is  that  you,  Robert  ?  "  said  Kingsbury :  "  come 
down  if  it  is,  and  help  me  out  of  this." 

"  But  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  It's  Kun'l  Kingsb'ry,  Massa  Robert,  from  Lancaster." 

u  Col.  Kingsbury,  you  here  at  this  time  o'  night !  I'll  come 
down  directly." 

They  waited  the  appearance  of  the  young  man,  who  came 
running  out,  saying,  "  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  there  has  been  awful  work  up  at  the  vil- 
lage. About  a  hundred  slaves  ran  off  last  night  on  a  schoo- 
ner ;  and  we  started  off  on  the  steamer  to  catch  them,  and 
have  had  a  fight,  and  this  young  man  in  the  wagon  got 
wounded." 

"  Is  that  it  ?  I  saw  the  '  Lady  Berrien '  go  down,  covered 
with  passengers ;  and  I  couldn't  think  what  was  up.  I'll  bet 
five  to  two  that  some  of  uncle's  niggers  are  gone,  then ;  for 
there's  two  been  missing  all  day :  and  I  sent  this  evening  for 
cock-eyed  Riley  to  come  to-morrow  with  his  dogs  to  hunt 
for  them.  Fury !  won't  the  old  man  bluster  when  he  hears 
of  it !  Who  is  this  wounded  man  ?  Let  us  take  him  into 
the  house." 

"  Are  you  in  much  pain,  Mr.  Gomery  ?  "  said  Kingsbury. 

"A  little,  sir." 

"  He  is  the  schoolmaster  up  in  our  neighborhood ;  and,  as 
we  must  get  home  before  his  wounds  can  be  dressed,  we  will 
try  and  make  him  a  bed  as  comfortable  as  possible  in  the 
wagon ;  and  if  you  can  give  us  some  fresh  horses,  then  we 
will  be  able  to  get  to  Lancaster  by  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  All  right :  that  can  be  done  easy.  —  Boys,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing to  the  slaves  who  had  gathered  around  to  see  what  this 
strange  arrival  meant,  —  "boys,  change  these  horses,  and  put 
in  Whitefoot  and  Old  Roger.  They  will  take  you  up  in  two 
hours,  or  two  and  a  half,  easy. 

"  I  am  very  thirsty,"  said  Walter. 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  said  the  young  man.  "What  am  I 
thinking  of?  You  want  a  good  glass  of  brandy ;  and  I'll  get 
it  for  you."    ; 

In  a  little  time,  the  fresh  horses  were  harnessed,  another 


216  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

driver  was  mounted  to  the  seat,  some  straw  was  placed  in 
the  wagon,  and  over  it  a  light  feather-bed  was  thrown  ;  and 
Walter  was  carefully  placed  upon  it,  and  some  blankets 
thrown  over  him  ;  and  then,  after  both  he  and  his  kind  pro- 
tector had  each  taken  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water,  the  driver 
was  told  to  go  ahead,  and  soon  they  were  jogging  at  a  brisk 
trot  over  the  fine  old  road  towards  Lancaster. 

Kingsbury  knew  too  well  the  temper  of  the  people  among 
whom  he  lived  to  think  of  taking  the  wounded  man  to  his 
own  house.  He  drove  directly  to  the  county  jail,  and  roused 
up  the  jailer,  who  was  almost  as  much  surprised,  when  he 
opened  the  sliding  panel  in  the  front  door  of  the  jail  and  rec- 
ognized Col.  Kingsbury,  as  young  Caperton  had  been. 

"  I  have  brought  you  a  prisoner,"  said  Kingsbury :  "  lock 
him  up,  and  keep  him  safe.  Give  him  the  best  room  in  the 
jail,  and  send  off  to  Dr.  Jones  at  once  to  come  and  dress  his 
wounds." 

The  jailer,  who  had  a  room  in  the  jail,  where  he  slept,  now 
opened  the  door;  and  the  two,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
driver,  lifted  Walter  from  the  wagon,  and  carried  him  into 
the  jail,  and  laid  him  on  a  low,  miserable  bed  in  the  jailer's 
own  room. 

The  crowd  who  had  pursued  Walter  and  his  protector  had 
arrived  at  Lancaster  before  them ;  but,  as  they  could  hear 
nothing  of  the  fugitives,  they  concluded  they  had  stopped  at 
some  planter's  house  on  the  road;  and  after  going  to  the 
Southern-Rights  Hotel,  rousing  up  the  landlord,  and  re- 
charging their  exhausted  bodies  with  whiskey,  they  separated, 
to  meet  again  early  the  next,  or  rather  that  morning,  when 

it  was  agreed  they  would  "  make  short  work  of  the  d d 

Yankee."  There  were  but  about  a  dozen  who  pushed 
through  to  the  village  that  night.  Of  the  rest,  some  staid 
aboard  the  boat,  and  some  straggled  up  to  the  nearest  plan- 
tations to  tell  their  sad  story  and  beg  for  a  night's  lodging. 
Hence  it  came  to  pass,  that,  after  a  day  of  excitement  and 
turmoil  such  as  the  town  had  never  witnessed  before,  all  was 
quiet  as  possible  when  Kingsbury  and  his  charge  drove  up  to 
the  jail;  and  Walter  was  safely  locked  inside  before  any  of 
the  towns-people  knew  of  the  "  distinguished  arrivals." 

Thus  for,  Kingsbury  had  acted  a  courageous  and  noble 
part.  But  he  knew  that  there  was  a  limit,  beyond  which, 
much  respected  as  he  was,  he  must  not  pass.     The  fury  of 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  217 

the  mob  the  next  day,  he  well  knew,  would  be  ferocious  and 
ungovernable.  Were  Walter  in  any  private  house,  he  did 
not  doubt  that  he  would  be  taken  out  and  hanged  before 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  But  the  mob  might  respect  the 
public  jail,  and  appease  their  sanguinary  thirst  with  the  re- 
flection that  they  were  sure  of  his  blood  at  last,  and  that  they 
could  make  his  life  a  prolonged  torture.  "If,"  thought  Kings- 
bury, "  they  can  get  over  the  first  excitement  and  rage,  and 
come  to  think  coolly  on  the  bravery  and  self-sacrifice  of  their 
prisoner,  their  animosity  might  change  to  respect,  and  he 
might  secure,  perhaps,  a  fair  trial ;  and  the  only  action  that 
would  lie  against  him  would  be  for  damages  to  the  boat ;  for 
by  no  straining  of  law  or  evidence  could  he  be  convicted  of 
enticing  slaves  to  escape.  And  as  for  the  other  matter,  there 
was  but  one  witness,  and  he  was  dead ;  and  besides,  by  the 
laws  of  Georgia,  he  was  not  competent  to  testify  against  a 
white  man." 

Thus  reasoned  Col.  Kingsbury  in  regard  to  the  man  he 
had  hoped  to  save.  His  next  care  was  to  provide  for  his  own 
safety.  It  was  not  enough  for  him  to  leave  the  wounded 
man  to  his  fate  in  the  jail.  Of  course,  his  standing  by  him 
longer  would  be  accounted  black  treason.  He  must  be 
among  the  most  vociferous  for  vengeance ;  for  slavery  ac- 
knowledges no  half-way  loyalty.  If  at  the  same  time,  how- 
ever, that  he  calls  for  the  severest  measures  and  penalties,  he 
can  at  the  same  time  convince  the  mob  to  let  the  law  take 
its  course,  perhaps,  before  his  trial  comes  on,  a  better  feeling 
may  obtain  among  the  people.  First  of  all,  however,  he 
must  keep  clear  of  suspicion  ;  for  once  let  the  impression 
get  abroad  that  he  has  sentiments  less  than  fiendish  towards 
the  great  culprit,  and  he  may  expect  a  warning  to  leave  the 
State  in  twenty-four  hours,  to  return  at  his  peril. 

Thoughts  of  this  kind  passed  through  the  mind  of  Col. 
Kingsbury  as  he  pursued  his  way  through  the  village  and  up 
to  his  own  home.  His  wife  had  not  been  in  bed  during  the 
night ;  and,  when  he  entered  the  house,  her  first  question 
was,  "  Have  they  got  away  ?  "  —  "  Yes,"  he  replied :  "  they 
are  far  at  sea  before  this."  —  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !  "  exclaimed 
she.  "  I  was  so  afraid  they  would  be  brought  back !  and 
then"  — 

"Hush,  wife!"  said  he :  "never  say  such  a  thing  as  that 

VOL,.   II.  19 


218  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

again.    If  overheard,  we  could  not  live  a  day  longer  in  Lan 
caster." 

The  next  morning,  by  nine  o'clock,  Kingsbury  was  again 
at  the  village.  The  people  were  gathered  in  knots,  talking 
over  the  events  of  the  day  before,  and  considering  what 
should  be  done  with  their  great  criminal.  Those  of  the  pur- 
suers who  had  returned  the  night  before  had  been  so  over- 
powered by  their  hard  work  and  harder  drinking,  that  they 
had  not  yet  appeared  on  the  scene  ;  and  it  was  twelve 
o'clock  in  the  day  before  the  loiterers,  who  had  stopped  at 
different  places  below,  had  all  returned,  crest-fallen,  to  town. 

At  about  two  o'clock,  the  valiant  Col.  Preston  mounted 
the  steps  in  front  of  the  State-Rights  Hotel,  and  began  a 
speech,  and  was  going  on  vigorously,  urging  that  such  prompt 
measures  must  be  taken,  and  vengeance  fall  so  quickly  on  the 
heels  of  crime,  that  nobody  should  ever  dare  such  a  thing 
again.  Most  fortunately,  the  author  and  originator  of  the 
atrocious  act  that  had  called  them  together  was  a  prisoner 
in  their  hands.  A  special  providence  had  reserved  him  to 
them  for  punishment ;  and,  if  they  failed  to  put  him  to  death 
by  torture,  they  would  show  themselves  heathens  and  infidels. 
He  had  got  fairly  into  his  favorite  subject  of  special  provi- 
dence, when  the  voice  of  a  deformed,  half-idiotic  old  negro, 
who  lived  about  the  town  after  the  manner  of  a  cur  dog 
whom  nobody  will  own,  called  out,  loud  enough  to  be  heard 
by  the  whole  crown,  "Dat's  mighty  fine  speech,  Massa  Prest'n; 
but  I  reck'n  you  wouldn't  go  on  so  if  you  know'd  your  shirt 
was  hanging  out  behind  a  foot,  foot  and  a  halt)  or  two  feet." 

This,  with  the  shout  produced  by  it,  was  too  much  for  Col. 
Preston.  Special  providence  had  jilted  him,  and  he  could 
not  go  on.  He  hemmed,  hawed,  and  stammered  a  few  words : 
but  the  crowd  broke  forth  in  repeated  guffaws ;  and  he  was 
obliged  to  stop,  and  descend  from  his  eminence.  If  his  rage 
was  great  when  he  thought  his  pantaloons  had  betrayed  him, 
it  was  unbounded,  gnashing,  frothing,  when  he  learned,  that, 
while  preaching  war  in  front,  there  was  really  no  white  flag 
in  the  rear. 

Kingsbury  took  advantage  of  this  first  symptom  of  reason 
or  good-humor,  and  began  talking  to  the  multitude.  He 
asked  if  they  were  insane,  and  were  prepared  to  grant  the 
mad  fanatic  what  of  all  things  he  most  wanted,  —  to  be  sud- 


A.  FAMILY   HISTORY.  219 

denly  put  to  death,  and  thus  gain  the  reputation  of  a  martyr 
among  his  fanatical  brethren. 

"  He  knows,"  said  he,  "  that  he  can't  live ;  and  let  him  lie 
and  suffer  not  only  the  pain  of  his  wounds,  but  the  penalty 
of  his  crimes,  and  the  horrors  of  a  guilty  conscience.  And, 
after  all  that,  we  shall  have  none  the  less  satisfaction  of 
seeing  him  hanged  and  die  infamously,  like  a  dog,  and  none 
—  not  one  —  to  pity  him.  But  you,  poor  fools !  would  shoot 
him  at  once ;  and  there  is  not  a  slave  within  forty  miles  but 
would  steal  away  at  night,  and  plant  flowers  on  his  grave." 

This  view  of  the  case  so  accorded  with  the  devilish  passion 
of  the  multitude,  that,  after  it  had  been  concurred  in  by 
Gen.  Churchill  in  a  short  speech,  more  out  of  spite  to  Pres- 
ton than  because  he  really  approved,  was  assented  to  by  the 
crowd ;  and  Churchill,  who  regarded  the  vote  in  its  favor  as 
a  tribute  to  his  own  eloquence,  proposed  that  they  should 
adjourn  to  the  hotel,  and  he  would  treat  the  crowd.  This 
motion  was  carried;  and  Walter  had  escaped  that  death 
which  he  had  supposed  was  inevitable. 


220  GOMEEY   OP   MONTGOMERY: 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


"  O  God !  Horatio,  what  a  wounded  name ! 
Things  standing  thus  unknown  shall  live  behind  me."— Hamlet. 

The  excitement  that  prevailed  throughout  F County, 

and  indeed  through  the  whole  State,  and  even  the  whole 
South,  when  the  news  spread  of  the  successful  hegira  of  so 
many  valuable  chattels,  was  nearly  as  great  as  it  was  some 
years  after,  when  the  "  Old  Dominion,"  the  mother  of  states- 
men, and  grandmother  of  pygmies,  was  invaded  and  captured 
by  that  distinguished  person  whose  soul  has  ever  since  been 
"marching  on."  Nothing  else  was  talked  of  or  thought  of. 
The  newspapers  far  and  near  were  full  of  the  matter.  A 
crime  had  been  committed,  exceeding  in  atrocity  the  Guy 
Faux  Plot,  or  the  Massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew.  The 
circumstances  of  the  escape  were  detailed  with  perverted 
minuteness;  and  the  crime  of  Walter  Gomery,  whose  name, 
however,  was  never  permitted  to  appear  in  print,  was  por- 
trayed in  colors  so  repugnant,  that,  compared  with  him, 
Judas  Iscariot  was  a  respectable  and  honorable  citizen,  Cati- 
line a  virtuous,  well-deserving  patriot,  and  all  the  Borgias 
exemplary  Christians.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  had  come, 
like  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  into  the  midst  of  a  commu- 
nity where  all  was  peace,  —  a  very  Arcadia  of  content  and 
patriarchal  bliss;  that  with  words  of  virtue  and  love  on  his 
tongue,  and  infernal  hypocrisy  in  his  heart,  he  had  plotted 
an  escape  of  a  hundred  and  fifteen  slaves,  the  most  valua- 
ble in  the  country,  worth  at  least  a  thousand  dollars  each ; 
and  this,  too,  at  the  very  time  he  was  receiving  food  and 
shelter  from  the  very  men  he  was  seeking  to  rob  of  their 
property,  —  property  not  only  allowed  by  the  Constitution, 
but  property  of  an  especially  sacred  character,  inasmuch  as  it 
was  sanctioned  by  the  divine  law,  and  ordained  in  the  curse 
pronounced  against  Ham  and  all  his  descendants.     There- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  221 

fore  was  he  doubly,  trebly,  atrociously  wicked ;  for  he  not 
only  sought  to  despoil  men  of  their  property,  but  to  weaken 
the  institutions  of  the  country,  and  sap  the  foundations  of 
religion.  Hence  he  was  declared  a  thief,  a  traitor,  and  an 
infidel. 

"  But,"  said  these  truthful  chroniclers,  "  it  was  from  no  love 
to  the  slave  that  he  had  done  this."  Oh,  no !  let  not  his  sym- 
pathizers and  abetters  say  that.  His  papers  had  been 
searched  ;  and  it  had  been  found  that  he  was  only  a  hireling, 
a  paid  instrument  of  the  fanatics  and  free-thinkers  of  the 
North,  to  entice  away  slaves,  before  content,  from  their 
homes ;  for  each  of  whom  that  left  his  master  he  was  to  be 
paid  the  sum  of  fifty  dollars  by  the  antislavery  men  of  the 
North,  and  fifty  dollars  more  by  the  slaves  themselves  when 
their  freedom  was  attained.  Indeed,  this  "cute"  Yankee 
had  a  nice  scheme  for  making  a  small  fortune.  With  no  dan- 
ger to  himself,  he  thought  to  organize  his  abominable  con- 
spiracy, and,  when  the  parties  to  it  had  escaped,  to  leave 
quietly  and  unsuspected,  and  pocket  his  ill-gotten  gains.  He 
saw  his  plans  successfully  matured  ;  and  every  thing  had 
worked  favorably  to  the  scheme  which  his  devilish  ingenuity 
had  devised,  when,  unexpectedly  and  providentially,  a  steam- 
er arrived  ere  it  was  too  late  to  overtake  the  fugitives.  But 
this  scoffer,  this  infidel,  refused  to  see  a  special  providence 
in  this  unlooked-for  arrival,  but  deliberately  went  on  board 
the  vessel ;  and,  when  escape  seemed  impossible,  he  boldly 
and  profanely  disabled  the  pursuing  craft,  and  then  sought 
to  shield  himself  by  deliberately  murdering  a  mulatto  slave, 
head  waiter  of  the  steamboat,  and  then  accused  him  of  hav- 
ing caused  the  disaster,  and  alleged  that  he  had  shot  him  in 
his  indignation  at  the  deed. 

And  worse  than  that,  even !  It  was  proved  by  a  high- 
toned  Southern  gentleman  —  on  his  honor  too,  and  of  course 
it  was  true  —  that  this  doubly-dyed  villain  was  willing,  for  a 
consideration,  to  prove  false  both  to  his  employers  at  the 
North,  and  the  slaves  he  was  corrupting ;  that  he  had  told 
him  if  he  would  pledge  his  word  to  secrecy  (which  a  South- 
ern gentleman,  it  was  well  known,  would  sooner  part  with 
his  life  than  violate),  then  he  would  impart  to  him  some- 
thing important,  on  condition  that  he  would  engage  to  pay 
him  as  much  for  disclosing  it  as  he  was  sure  to  make  by 
keeping  it  a  secret.    But  the  gentleman,  unfortunately,  was 

19* 


222  G0MERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

a  Virginian,  and  too  sensitive  on  points  of  honor,  and  would 
make  no  terms  with  the  canting,  cringing,  thrifty  Yankee ; 
and  so  his  plot  was  undiscovered  till  it  was  too  late.  This 
part  of  the  story  was  first  learned  at  Lancaster  from  those 
organs  of  truth,  the  "Richmond  Enquirer,"  "Examiner,"  and 
"  Whig ; "  and  thought  here  was  much  search  for  this  high- 
toned,  chivalrous  Virginian,  he  could  not  be  found. 

While  all  these  perversions  were  circulating  through  the 
press  of  the  entire  country,  Walter  lay  in  prison,  closely 
guarded  and  watched.  His  wound,  though  severe  and  pain- 
ful, was  not  serious ;  and  the  doctor  whom  Kingsbury  had 
ordered  the  jailer  to  call  had  treated  him  professionally. 
He  had  extracted  the  ball;  and,  as  no  bones  were  seriously 
fractured,  he  left  Nature  to  effect  a  cure. 

But  there  was  great  uneasiness,  not  only  in  the  vicinity  of 
Lancaster,  but  throughout  all  slavedom.  The  temerity  of 
the  man  had  caused  him  to  be  feared.  The  flight  of  so  many 
slaves  was  so  unexpected,  that  people  feared  even  their  own 
shadows.  If  so  many  of  the  most  faithful  and  well-con- 
ducted could  plot  so  heinous  a  crime,  who  of  them  could  be 
trusted  ?  Who  knew  what  other  conspiracies  were  in  pro- 
cess of  incubation?  There  were  other  Yankees  about, — 
some  schoolmasters,  some  tradesmen,  some  mechanics,  —  all, 
however,  engaged  in  low  and  undignified  occupations.  But 
there  were  no  gentlemen  of  that  breed  there ;  none  who 
kept  their  horses  and  dogs,  or  who  had  that  fine  sense  of 
honor  that  would  blow  off  the  top  of  an  offending  head  at 
the  suspicion  of  an  insult.  All  these  low-bred  people  within 
fifty  miles  of  Lancaster  were  given  to  understand,  by  hints 
and  threats,  that  they  must  leave  that  part  of  the  land  of 
liberty.  One  of  them,  an  entire  stranger  to  Walter,  having 
made  all  his  preparations  to  return  North,  preferred  a  request 
to  be  permitted  to  visit  the  great  criminal.  His  request  was 
politely  complied  with,  but  coupled  with  this  condition,  that 
he  must  first  lay  aside  his  ordinary  clothing,  and  accept  a 
suit  of  tar  and  feathers.  This  joke  was  so  good,  it  set  up  the 
perpetrator  for  a  wit,  and  finally  carried  him  into  Congress. 

During  the  time  of  Walter's  convalescence,  he  was  visited 
by  several  of  the  most  important  and  influential  men  in  the 
neighborhood.  They  were  generally  prompted  by  a  vulgar 
curiosity  to  see  a  man  capable  of  such  an  act  as  he  had 
committed.    Among  others  came  a  certain  Dr.  Lancy,  who 


A   FAMILY    HISTOKY.  223 

was  no  longer  a  practising  physician,  but  a  rich  planter ; 
having,  a  few  years  before,  married  the  richest  heiress  in 
Georgia,  with  a  plantation  so  well  stocked  with  fat  negroes, 
that  an  Irish  exiled  patriot  might  have  envied  him.  He  was 
usually  accompanied  by  a  young  lawyer,  a  man  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  by  the  name  of  Larcomb,  who  had  lived  some 
years  at  Lancaster,  but  who,  notwithstanding  his  orthodox 
politics,  had  but  a  starving  business.  In  fact,  but  for  the 
small  jobs  thrown  in  his  way  by  Lancy,  he  would  probably 
have  been  obliged  to  give  up  his  profession,  and  take  to  the 
more  lucrative  business  of  overseeing.  The  former's  object 
ostensibly  was  to  consult  with  Dr.  Jones  on  the  condition  of 
his  patient.  But,  in  reality,  he  and  his  friend  Larcomb  came 
as  spies ;  thinking  that,  by  getting  him  into  conversation,  he 
might  be  drawn  to  implicate  others.  But  in  this  they  neces- 
sarily failed,  from  the  fact  that  there  was  nobody  to  impli- 
cate. Baffled  in  this,  they  told  the  jailer  to  let  nothing  pass 
between  him  and  the  outer  world  until  it  had  gone  through 
their  hands.  Larcomb,  however,  continued  his  visits,  and 
his  efforts  to  draw  something  from  the  prisoner  that  should 
entitle  him  to  that  gratitude  of  the  public  which  should 
bring  business  to  his  office. 

As  had  been  foreseen  by  these  two  attentive  visitors,  Wal- 
ter, when  sufficiently  recovered  to  be  able  to  write,  requested 
permission  to  send  letters  to  his  friends.  He  was  assured 
that  his  request  should  be  granted  ;  and  accordingly  he  wrote 
to  his  father  and  mother  a  full  and  complete  history  of  his 
life  from  the  time  he  left  the  house  of  his  brother-in-law  in 
Philadelphia.  This  letter  he  was  just  sealing  up  one  day, 
when  Dr.  Lancy  entered;  and  thinking  that  perhaps,  from 
his  position,  he  would  be  above  the  despicable  meanness  of 
tampering  with  a  private  letter,  he  requested  him  to  have  it 
mailed.  He  had  not  yet  learned,  that,  when  men  make  a  god 
of  slavery,  it  matters  little  how  high  or  low  their  position :  — 

"  The  trail  of  the  serpent  is  over  them  all." 

The  doctor  assured  him,  "  on  his  honor,"  that  the  letter 
should  be  mailed  that  very  day.  But,  the  second  day  after- 
wards, he  was  led  to  believe  that  it  had  not  been  sent,  but 
that,  on  the  contrary,  its  contents  were  known  by  sundry 
people  in  Lancaster,  who,  notwithstanding  their  high  sense 
of  honor,  were,  it  seemed,  up  to  tricks  of  which  the  meanest 


224  GOMEEY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

Yankee  he  had  ever  known  would  be  ashamed.  An  allusion 
was  made  by  Larcoinb  to  his  connections  in  New  York  and 
Philadelphia;  and  as  he  had  never  mentioned  to  a  soul, 
since  he  first  took  passage  on  the  "  Good  Intent,"  that  he 
had  even  an  acquaintance  in  either  of  those  places,  he  knew 
that  the  seal  of  his  letter  had  been  violated,  —  an  offence  de- 
clared a  felony  among  people  who  are  simply  civilized  and 
honest,  and  not  "  high-toned,"  "honorable,"  or  "  chivalrous." 
While  waiting  for  an  answer,  however,  —  if  perchance  his 
letter  had  been  resealed,  and  forwarded  after  having  been 
read,  and  an  answer  to  it  should  be  allowed  to  reach  him, — 
he  was  indulged  in  the  favor  of  reading  the  Southern  papers, 
which,  with  characteristic  kindness,  were  sent  to  him  by  Dr. 
Lancy. 

But  what  was  his  surprise,  on  reading  them,  to  find  himself 
magnified  into  a  person  of  great  notoriety  and  importance. 
In  fact,  the  papers  from  Baltimore  to  New  Orleans  were 
filled  with  him  and  his  doings.  Through  them,  he  learned, 
for  the  first  time,  that  he  was  a  paid  agent,  —  a  hireling  of 
those  disreputable  characters  at  the  North  who  were  opposed 
to  the  divine  institution  of  human  slavery.  With  an 
ingenuity  that  would  have  done  crecftt  to  an  inquisitor,  they 
represented  him  as  a  selfish  schemer,  paid  for  the  work  he 
was  engaged  in ;  as  an  ingrate,  who  had  won  his  way  into 
the  regards  and  confidence  of  those  he  intended  all  the  while 
to  betray,  and  rob  of  their  property;  that  he  had  been  moved 
to  what  he  had  done  by  no  feeling  or  sympathy  with  the 
slave,  as  it  was  clearly  shown  by  his  papers  that  he  was  a 
paid  tool  of  men  more  cautious,  if  not  more  wicked,  than 
himself.  Besides  the  accounts  and  comments  of  the  Southern 
papers,  they  contained  various  extracts  from  the  press  of  the 
North,  all  of  which  concurred  in  depicting  him  as  the  most 
infamous  of  mankind.  If  other  papers  expressed  different 
opinions,  he  was  not  allowed  to  see  them ;  but  several  of 
those  he  did  receive  had  commented  on  tha  tone  of  the 
Northern  press,  and  said  it  was  greatly  to  their  credit,  that, 
with  scarce  an  exception,  they  spoke  in  the  strongest  con- 
demnation of  the  hideous  arid  unnatural  act ;  and  some  of 
them  candidly  admitted  there  must  be  something  entirely 
wrong  in  the  social  condition  of  the  North,  when  it  could 
produce  such  a  monster. 

The  jailer,  who  brought  him  the  package  of  papers  con- 


A  FAMILY    HISTOBY.  225 

taining  all  this,  remained,  carefully  observing  the  effect  they 
had  on  his  prisoner.  But  he  moved  never  a  muscle,  nor  said 
a  word.  The  turnkey,  however,  was  not  able  to  repress  his 
curiosity;  and  after  Walter* had  been  reading  an  hour  or 
more,  and  had  laid  down  one  paper  to  take  up  another,  he 
said,  — 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  now?" 

"  Think  ?  "  said  Walter :  "  I  foresaw  it  all ;  and  I  am  con- 
tent." 

Being  convinced  in  his  own  mind  that  his  letter  to  his 
father  had  not  been  forwarded,  Walter  made  no  inquiries  for 
an  answer;  and,  when  asked  by  Larcomb  —  who  continued  to 
visit  him  frequently,  more  as  a  spy  upon  the  jailer  than  from 
any  further  hope  of  inducing  him  to  inculpate  others  —  if  it 
were  not  about  time  for  him  to  hear  from  his  friends  at  the 
North,  he  replied,  "No;  for  my  letter  was  not  sent."  The 
lawyer  was  fiercely  indignant  at  this,  and  told  him  he  was  a 
liar. 

A  few  days  after  this,  the  paper  of  the  town,  the  "  Lancaster 
Star,"  contained  a  statement  that  a  letter  had  been  received 
by  Dr.  Lancy,  written  at  the  request  of  the  father  of  the 
unhappy  young  man  who  lay  in  prison  awaiting  the  punish- 
ment due  to  his  crimes ;  and  that  he  utterly  disowned  his 
child,  and  disclaimed  all  knowledge  of  his  acts,  or  of  his 
intentions  previous  to  his  going  South ;  that  the  old  man, 
who  was  a  very  respectable  man,  was  very  much  grieved  at 
the  wayward  and  wicked  conduct  of  his  erring  son ;  that  he 
was  utterly  cast  down  and  depressed  at  his  unnatural  con- 
duct, and  so  deeply  felt  the  shame  he  had  brought  upon  him 
and  his  house,  that  he  had  forbidden  his  name  ever  to  be 
mentioned  in  his  presence ;  and  that,  were  it  in  his  power  to 
rescue  him  from  the  position  in  which  his  own  bad  acts  had 
placed  him,  he  would  not  lift  a  finger  to  do  it;  for  as  he  had 
sown,  so  he  must  reap. 

But,  in  all  the  papers  that  he  was  allowed  to  see,  he  observed 
that  his  nameVas  never  given.  He  was  usually  designated 
as  the  young  Caliban.  The  object  of  thus  suppressing  his 
name  he  could  only  surmise;  but  taken  with  the  studied 
perversions  of  his  acts,  the  transparent  falsehoods  in  regard 
to  the  manner  in  which  his  father  had  received  the  news, 
it  appeared  clear  to  him  that  the  purpose  was  to  preclude  his 
friends  at  a  distance  from  knowing  or  suspecting  his  fate 


226  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY: 

until  the  curtain  should  fall  on  the  last  scene  of  the  tragedy. 
That  his  death,  and  the  manner  of  it,  would  be  subsequently 
known  to  them,  he  did  not  doubt.  But  what  would  be  the 
story  of  his  offences?  He  would  doubtless  be  represented, 
as  he  had  been  already,  as  the  most  despicable  wretch  that 
ever  crawled  upon  the  earth.  All  these  reflections  passed 
through  his  mind;  yet  he  never  repined,  nor  regretted  his 
acts.  His  mental  exclamation  was  ever  the  same,  "It  is 
what  I  bargained  for;  and  I  am  content." 

Still  his  estimate  of  the  exalted  character  and  nice  sense 
of  honor  of  those  into  whose  power  he  had  fallen  was  not 
so  high  but  that  he  thought  he  would  be  justified  in  circum- 
venting, to  a  certain  extent,  their  designs.  Though  he 
regarded  his  own  fate  with  remarkable  indifference,  yet  he 
was  racked  and  tortured  that  when  the  news  of  it  reached 
the  Pivot,  perverted  and  distorted  as  it  was  sure  to  be,  it 
would  send  the  gray  hairs  of  both  father  and  mother  in 
sorrow  to  the  grave.  What  he  most  feared  was  that  he 
would  be  represented  as  a  cowardly  repentant,  when  he  was 
convinced,  if  they  knew  the  whole  facts,  if  they  could  hear  his 
story,  they  would  approve  and  justify  him  in  what  he  had 
done.  "Ay,"  said  he  to  himself,  "if  I  obeyed  their  instruc- 
tions and  examples,  I  could  not  have  done  otherwise.  My 
father  would  have  done  the  same  in  my  position.  Thank 
God,  when  the  trial  came,  I  did  not  falter,  or  shrink  from  my 
duty!" 

Was  it  possible  to  communicate  with  his  father  ?  He  was 
closely  watched ;  and  no  one  was  ever  allowed  to  converse 
with  him,  whose  fidelity  to  slavery  could,  for  a  moment,  be 
called  in  question.  While  thinking  on  this  matter,  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Larcomb,  who  came  to  see 
him  much  oftener  than  he  was  welcome. 

"  Why  do  you  come  here  ?  "  said  Walter.  "  Have  you  any 
sympathy  with  me  or  my  acts?" 

"  God  forbid,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  that  I  should  have  any 
sympathy  with  you!  The  truth  is,  if  you  must  know,  I 
come  to  see  that  every  thing  is  safe,  and  from  a  sense  of 
patriotism." 

"I  conclude,  then,  you  haven't  much  else  to  do,  as  patriot- 
ism is  said  to  be  the  last  resort  of  a  scoundrel ! " 

"  Were  it  not  for  your  wounds,  I  would  soon  mend  your 
manners,"  said  the  lawyer. 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  227 

"In  my  wounds  is  my  only  danger  from  such  as  you," 
replied  Walter.  "  You  come  on  me  as  a  spy,  and  you  intend 
to  report  all  you  can  hear  to  my  prejudice.  But  I  can  show 
you  a  joke  worth  half  a  dozen  of  that.  In  fact,  I  can  throw 
a  handsome  fee  in  your  way." 

"But  you  have  no  money  to  pay  for  your  defence,"  an- 
swered the  lawyer,  not  observing  that  his  own  words  betrayed 
him,  until  they  were  uttered. 

"But  do  you  want  to  turn  an  honest  penny,  or  rather 
make  a  handsome  fee  ?  " 

"It  would  be  very  dangerous,"  replied  the  attorney, casting 
his  eyes  about  to  make  sure  that  he  was  not  overheard,  and 
in  a  manner  that  clearly  showed  that  he  was  a  candidate  for 
anybody's  money. 

"Not  the  least  danger,"  said  Walter.  "I  will  put  it  in 
your  power  to  realize  two  thousand  dollars,  and  no  one  sus- 
pect you,  if  you  will  only  do  me  a  favor  which  you  can  easily 
do." 

"Look  here,  stranger:  though  I  did  feel  rather  prejudiced 
against  you  at  first,  and  p'raps  used  some  hard  talk,  I  always 
did  think  you  was  a  gentleman ;  and  I  will  do  any  thing  you 
ask  me,  so  it  is  safe,  and  I  get  paid  what  is  fair." 

"  Well,  then,  could  you  go  North,  and  be  gone  for  a  week 
or  ten  days,  and  not  excite  suspicion?" 

"  You  are  trying  to  escape  ;  and  my  conscience  would  not 
allow  me  to  help  you  do  that." 

"  No :  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  know  I  must  die,  and  that 
it  is  perfectly  useless  to  try  to  escape.  All  I  hope  before  that 
is  to  send  a  letter  North ;  and  if  you  will  take  it,  and  bring 
me  back  an  answer  that  will  prove  that  mine  has  been 
received,  I  will  make  you  sure  of  two  thousand  dollars." 

"  But  will  nobody  blow  on  me  ?  " 

"  No :  I  will  make  you  feel  safe  on  that  score." 

"Well,  stranger,  you  must  give  me  time  to  think  of  this. 
It  seems  very  fair  on  your  part ;  and  if  you  will  make  it  all 
safe,  and  will  pay  me  wTell,  I  am  as  willing  to  do  a  fellow  a 
good  turn  as  any  other  high-toned  gentleman." 

Walter  had  not  mistaken  his  man ;  and  the  same  night  he 
set  to  work  to  write  out  a  full  account  of  the  unfortunate 
affair  in  which  he  had  been  involved.  The  story  is  known 
to  the  reader.  At  its  conclusion,  he  told  how  his  conduct 
had  been  intentionally  misrepresented ;  and,  if  he  did  not  find 


228  GOMERT   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

some  way  to  make  known  the  real  facts,  his  death  would  be 
learned  of  through  the  papers,  and  he  would  be  represented 
as  having  committed  many  cowardly  and  disgraceful  acts; 
whereas  he  had  done  nothing  that  he  would  not,  under  the 
same  circumstances,  do  again.  To  make  sure  that  his  letter 
should  reach  them,  however,  he  had  been  obliged  to  promise 
the  bearer  of  it  two  thousand  dollars,  —  fifteen  hundred  of 
which  was  to  be  paid  on  delivery  of  the  letter,  and  the  other 
five  hundred  when  the  answer  was  received  and  delivered 
into  his  hands,  by  an  order  of  his  father  on  himself  in  favor 
of  Walter,  to  be  indorsed  when  an  answer  to  his  letter 
should  reach  him  in  prison. 

Such  were  the  terms  made  with  Larcomb ;  and  that  enter- 
prising patriot  found  means  to  excuse  his  absence  from  Lan- 
caster for  a  few  days  by  saying  that  his  brother,  who  lived 
near  Baltimore,  had  lately  died  and  left  him  a  little  property. 
But  this  serviceable  patriot  was  still  very  much  afraid  of 
being  suspected;  nor  was  he  quite  sure  that  he  was  not  run- 
ning into  danger  by  venturing  North  and  making  known  his 
errand.  Walter  was  therefore  obliged  to  read  to  him  that 
part  of  his  letter  concerning  the  terms  of  payment,  and  also 
the  part  in  which  he  enjoined  it  on  his  father,  that,  after 
receiving  the  letter,  he  should  keep  strictly  silent,  nor  make 
any  move  in  his  behalf  until  the  bearer  had  left,  and  had 
time  to  get  a  good  distance  back,  on  his  return  home. 
"I  have  promised,"  he  added,  "that  his  safety  shall  not  be 
compromised ;  and  I  have  only  to  say  this  to  make  sure  of 
its  righteous  fulfilment." 

Thus  fortified  with  Walter's  letter,  and  a  weed  on  his  hat, 
the  self-sacrificing  patriot  set  forth  on  his  journey. 


A  FAMILY    HISTOEY.  229 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

"  In  distant  countries  have  I  been ; 
And  yet  I  have  not  often  seen 
A  healthy  man,  a  man  full-grown, 
Weep  in  the  public  roads  alone."  —  Wordsworth, 

It  was  about  the  middle  or  towards  the  latter  part  of 
November,  and  among  the  last  days  of  the  Indian  summer, 
that  Freeborn  Gomery  was  sitting  in  his  large  arm-chair  in 
front  of  the  house,  thinking  over  the  late  events  of  his  life, 
and  gazing  with  a  mournful  eye  at  the  sun,  that  was  now  but 
a  little  above  the  horizon,  and,  through  the  haze  and  smoke, 
looked  dull  and  red,  when  he  observed  a  stranger  approach- 
ing the  house.  He  had  a  suspicious  and  timid  look ;  and 
the  old  man  arose  to  meet  him,  and  asked  him  to  take  a 
chair  that  was  standing  near  his  own.  The  stranger  com- 
plied ;  and  then  casting  his  eyes  about  in  all  directions,  as 
if  fearing  to  be  observed  or  overheard,  he  said  in  a  half- 
whisper,  "  Is  your  name  Gomery  ?  " 

"  It  is,  sir." 

"  Freeborn  Gomery  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir :  Freeborn  Gomery." 

"  Can  I  have  a  few  words  in  private  with  you  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly !     Here  is  a  good  place  for  it." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  stranger,  again  looking  around,  as 
fearing  intrusion,  "  I  must  have  a  clear  understanding  with 
you  before  I  begin.  I  must  have  a  promise  from  you  not  to 
expose  me." 

"  But,  my  good  sir,  I  am  no  longer  a  practising  lawyer ; 
and,  if  you  want  counsel,  you  must  go  elsewhere ;  and,  be- 
fore you  begin,  let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  fully  determined 
never  to  try  another  case  in  court.  Therefore  it  is  better 
you  should  not  give  me  your  confidence." 

"  You  mistake  my  object,"  said  the  other.  "  I  do  not  want 
counsel  or  law  service.  I  want  money.  I  have  come  to 
you  for  that,  and  from  a  long  distance ;  and,  if  you  were  to 
vol.  n.  20 


230  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

hear  my  story,  you  would  not  allow  me  to  depart  without  it. 
But,  before  I  tell  you  any  thing  more,  I  must  know  that  you 
will  not  use  the  information  I  shall  give  you  to  my  disadvan- 
tage. If  I  give  you  information  that  you  desire  to  have,  and 
cannot  otherwise  get,  will  you  promise  not  to  use  it  to  my 
injury?" 

Of  course,  I  could  promise  anybody  that ;  but,  as  my  im- 
pression is  that  it  is  some  affair  that  does  not  concern  me, 
you  had  better  not  reveal  it  to  me." 

"  It  concerns  you  to  know  it  more  than  any  man  in  the 
world." 

The  old  man  looked  curiously  and  incredulously  at  the 
stranger,  utterly  at  a  loss  to  conceive  what  he  had  to  confide 
to  him.  But  he  saw  the  man  was  in  earnest,  and  very  anx- 
ious for  his  own  safety.  He  assured  him  his  confidence  should 
not  be  abused,  and  that  no  word  he  might  utter  should  ever 
be  construed  to  his  injury  or  prejudice. 

The  stranger  then  drew  from  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat 
a  sealed  package,  and  handed  it  to  the  other,  saying,  "  On 
honor." 

"  On  honor,"  said  Gomery,  taking  the  package,  and  looking 
at  the  superscription.  "  Why,  this,"  said  he,  starting  up, — this 
is  from  my  son,  my  Walter !  Then  you  know  him  ?  A  good 
boy  is  Walter."  He  was  proceeding  to  break  the  seal ;  when 
the  stranger  stopped  him,  saying,  — 

"  Before  reading  this,  you  will  allow  me  to  go.  I  shall 
stop  in  the  hotel  in  the  village  till  day  after  to-morrow 
morning,  when  I  shall  leave,  as  I  came,  by  the  stage.  I  shall 
be  prepared  to  take  any  messages  you  may  have  to  send  to 
your  son,  and  you  can  find  me  any  time  to-morrow." 

Saying  this,  the  stranger  walked  away.  The  old  man 
looked  at  the  letter  again  ;  but  it  was  becoming  too  dark  to 
read,  so  he  put  it  in  his  pocket;  and,  after  seeing  that  every 
thing  about  the  premises  was  properly  attended  to  and  se- 
cured for  the  night,  he  entered  the  house.  Then,  bidding 
the  servant  put  two  lighted  candles  in  his  private  room,  he 
entered,  and  sat  down  before  the  fire  that  smouldered  upon 
the  hearth.  His  room  was  small  and  cosey,  and  opened  into 
the  large  family  parlor.  It  contained  his  library  of  miscel- 
laneous books,  his  writing-desk,  and  all  his  private  papers. 
He  had  a  misgiving  that  the  letter  in  his  hand  contained 
unwelcome  tidings ;  and  he  was  studying  over  in  his  mind 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  231 

what  it  might  be  that  had  rendered  it  so  necessary  for  the 
bearer  of  it  to  approach  him  so  cautiously  and  mysteriously. 
He  drew  the  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  again  looked  at  the 
address.  The  servant  was  just  leaving  the  room:  "Ask  Mrs. 
Gomery  to  come  in  here,"  said  he. 

Directly  his  wife  appeared  at  the  door.  She  was  beauti- 
ful still,  though  the  last  two  years  had  told  upon  her  more 
than  the  preceding  ten.  Yet  she  was  a  beautiful  woman. 
It  is  true,  there  were  many  white  hairs  mingling  with  the 
black  locks  that  were  puffed  out  above  her  temples.  Her 
cheeks  had  not  the  fresh  tints  of  thirty  or  forty  years  before ; 
but  they  still  looked  firm  and  hard,  and  her  eyes  had  all  the 
fire  that  distinguished  the  fair  daughters  of  Judge  Mackenzie 
of  a  past  generation.  She  was  tall  and  erect  as  ever;  and 
this  summer  evening  she  was  dressed  more  youthfully  than 
had  been  usual  with  her  since  the  period  when  her  anxiety 
for  Walter's  absence  first  began  to  weigh  on  her  life. 

"Well,  Freeborn,"  said  she,  "what  is  it?" 

He  looked  around ;  and  she,  with  the  quick  instinct  of 
love,  saw  that,  though  there  was  no  cloud  on  his  counte- 
nance, there  was  anxiety  in  his  mind.  She  closed  the  door, 
and  approached ;  and,  leaning  over  him  as  he  sat  in  his 
chair,  she  placed  her  left  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  laid  her 
head  as  gently  and  lovingly  against  his  as  she  had  used  to 
do  in  those  years  when  both  were  young,  ay,  and  both 
were  beautiful. 

Talk  not  of  the  beauty  of  youth !  What  is  it  compared 
with  the  beauty  of  virtuous,  healthy,  contented  maturity? 
No  young  couple  standing  at  the  marriage-altar  ever  pre- 
sented such  a  picture  of  real,  noble  beauty  as  did  Freeborn 
Gomery  and  his  wife  at  this  moment.  He,  with  his  ample 
forehead,  his  heavy,  projecting  eyebrows,  his  firm  lips,  and 
thoughtful  face,  appeared  the  very  embodiment  and  incarna- 
tion of  massive  and  granite  beauty  as  represented  by  the 
great  masters  of  antiquity  in  their  conceptions  of  Jupiter 
and  Hercules ;  while  contrasting  with  this  was  her  half- 
playful  smile,  her  matronly  dignity,  her  feminine  delicacy, 
that  made  perfect  the  picture :  for  shedding  a  halo  over  all 
was  that  perfect  love,  that,  through  more  than  thirty  years' 
companionship,  had  set  the  seal  of  calmness  and  grandeur  on 
the  face  of  both. 

But  the  smile,  half-playful,  half-curious,  that  sat  on  the  face 


232  G0MEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

of  Mrs.  Goraery  when  she  first  leaned  her  head  over  her 
husband's  shoulder,  vanished  in  an  instant  when  she  saw 
the  familiar  writing  on  the  letter  which  he  held  in  his 
hand. 

Alas !  that  smile  was  never  to  return  to  her  face  again ; 
never,  never,  never ! 

She  took  the  seat  at  the  left  of  her  husband,  and,  as  if 
already  impressed  with  a  sense  of  the  importance  of  the 
letter,  asked,  "  What  is  it  ?  I  know  there  is  bad  news  from 
Walter." 

"  I  have  not  read  a  word  as  yet ;  but  the  manner  of  the 
man  who  brought  it  leads  me  to  suspect  evil." 

"  I  knew  we  should  have  bad  news  from  Walter.  I  have 
told  you  so  every  day  for  weeks  ;  that  something  was  going 
wrong  with  him ;  and,  Freeborn,  did  you  know  what  I  went 
to  the  Perch  for  yesterday  ?  " 

"Perhaps  for  the  same  reason  that  I  went  this  morning." 

"  To  see  if  the  angels  were  weeping  ?  " 

"  I  went  for  that  purpose." 

"  And  they  wept  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  constant  trickling  down  their  cheeks  into 
the  pool  below." 

"  It  was  so  yesterday ;  and  I  knew  we  should  have  some 
dreadful  news :  then  I  dreamed  of  him  last  night,  and  he 
seemed  to  be  translated,  —  poor  boy !   poor  Walter !  " 

"  We  will  read  the  letter  now,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband ; 
"  and  let  us  hope  for  disappointment  in  our  fears."  He  then 
adjusted  his  spectacles,  and,  drawing  the  letter  from  its  en- 
velope, began  at  the  beginning,  giving  the  place  and  date, 
"  County  Jail,  Lancaster,  F County,  Ga." 

He  read  the  letter  from  beginning  to  end  with  an  unfalter- 
ing voice.  Walter  had  suppressed  or  extenuated  nothing. 
He  gave  a  minute  and  exact  history  of  his  life  from  the  time 
he  had  last  written  to  them.  He  told  of  the  kindness  ex- 
perienced from  the  Kingsburys ;  of  his  foreknowledge  of  the 
plot  of  escape  ;  of  what  he  had  seen  of  the  evils  of  slavery ; 
of  the  plan  of  the  flight;  the  pursuit,  and  the  means  that  he 
had  taken  to  defeat  it ;  the  success  of  his  daring  act ;  and  all 
the  reasons  and  motives  that  had  influenced  him.  He  then 
alluded  to  the  persistent  and  shameful  system  of  falsehood 
that  had  been  adopted  to  misrepresent  his  acts,  and  make 
him  infamous  before  the  world.     He  said  the  newspapers 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  233 

had  been  filled  with  the  most  glaring  misstatements,  repre- 
senting him  as  a  mere  hireling,  and,  when  caught,  bitterly- 
repentant,  begging  for  mercy,  and  confessing  all  that  they 
charged  upon  him ;  that  only  their  version  of  his  conduct 
could  reach  them,  unless  he  adopted  some  extraordinary 
means  to  make  known  his  own  story ;  and  therefore  he  had 
bribed  the  bearer  of  the  letter  to  take  it  North,  and  deliver 
it  into  his  father's  hands ;  and  had  engaged,  that,  for  this 
service,  his  father  should  pay  him  fifteen  hundred  dollars  on 
delivery,  and  give  him  an  order  for  five  hundred  dollars 
more,  payable  when  Walter's  indorsement  upon  it  should 
be  procured.  The  indorsement  was  to  be  the  evidence  that 
the  father's  answer  was  delivered  into  the  son's  hands. 

The  squire,  having  read  the  letter,  turned,  and  looked  at 
his  wife.  She  was  white  and  rigid  as  marble.  Then  he 
looked  at  the  letter  again,  and  exclaimed,  "O  Walter,  Wal- 
ter !  would  that  I  could  die  for  you  ! " 

"Die!"  cried  his  mother:  "die!  he  shall  not  die:  he  is 
an  angel  now." 

She  arose,  and  walked  about  the  little  room.  Then  she 
sat  down  by  the  side  of  her  husband,  and  said,  "  Freeborn, 
we  must  both  go  to  him  at  once." 

"  My  dear,  it  is  impossible.  The  man  who  brought  us  the 
letter  has  done  so  at  the  peril  of  his  life;  and,  before  he 
would  deliver  it,  he  exacted  a  promise  from  me  that  I  would 
do  nothing  that  might  excite  suspicion  in  regard  to  him,  or 
expose  him  to  danger.  We  must  pay  him  as  Walter  has 
promised,  and  then  he  must  be  allowed  to  depart  as  quietly 
as  he  came ;  otherwise  Walter  can  never  know  that  we  have 
received  his  letter.  He  must  return,  and  carry  word  of  its 
reception." 

"  But,  Freeborn,  we  can't  do  that :  we  must  away.  Why 
need  the  man  go  back  ?  Let  us  send  somebody  else  to  carry 
our  blessing.  Let  us  compensate  him  for  all  his  losses  and 
risks,  and  so  detain  him ;  and  we  will  go  down  there,  and  I 
am  sure  they  will  set  Walter  free." 

"  Wife,  that  could  do  Walter  no  good :  it  would  only 
hasten  his  end.  Do  you  think  they  would  respect  us  after 
they  have  treated  him  so  ?  More  likely  you  would  see  these 
gray  hairs  insulted,  and  these  old  limbs  torn  asunder.  No, 
wife  :  there  is  but  one  way  for  us.  I  promised  this  man,  un- 
conditionally, to  see  him  safe  away,  and  keep  entirely  quiet 
20* 


234  GOMERY  OF  MONTGOMERY  : 

till  he  was  so  far  off  that  no  suspicion  could  follow  him. 
Now,  what  think  you  Walter  would  do,  were  he  in  my 
place?" 

"  Walter,  Walter  would  "  — 

"  Would  not  hesitate,  but  keep  his  word." 

"  Ay,  Walter  is  not  like  other  men  :  he  never  acted  from 
his  babyhood  like  other  children.  He  never  knew  tempta- 
tion :  what  was  right  and  good  and  noble  he  always  did  as 
a  matter  of  course ;  and  what  was  not  so,  he  could  see  no 
reason  for  doing,  any  more  than  if  it  were  an  impossibility. 
He  never  had  a  thought  of  self  in  all  his  life.  O  Walter, 
Walter,  my  last-born,  my  dearest!  you  were  always  my 
pride,  but  never  so  much  as  now ! " 

"  Let  us,  then,  do  our  duty,  and  do  as  he  would  were  he  in 
our  place.  Let  us  be  worthy  of  a  son  so  far  above  all  others 
we  have  ever  known,  ay,  or  heard  of,  except  him  who  died 
for  his  enemies.  First,  our  duty  is  to  reward  this  man,  and 
send  him  away." 

"  It  is  right,  and  it  must  be  so ;  but  it  will  kill  me,  —  it 
will  kill  me!" 

This  painful  interview  was  prolonged  through  the  night. 
A  dozen  times,  Mrs.  Gomery  left  the  room  to  retire  to  her 
own  chamber,  but  as  often  she  returned  to  renew  the  con- 
versation. Whatever  might  be  done  afterwards,  it  was  clear 
that  the  messenger  must  be  sent  unharmed  away.  But  it 
was  not  always  an  easy  thing  to  raise  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
in  a  day  in  the  village  of  Montgomery.  Gomery  must  scour 
the  town  next  day,  and  get  all  that  was  to  be  had  ;  and,  if  it 
was  not  the  amount  required,  he  must  then  give  an  order  on 
his  son  in  New  York  for  the  balance. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  was  at  his  old  office  in 
town.  He  first  went  to  Caleb  Thornton,  jun.,  the  principal 
tradesman  in  the  place,  son  of  that  Caleb  Thornton,  and 
grandson  of  that  Craig,  who  will  be  remembered  as  having 
figured  in  the  famous  case  of  Craig  vs.  Cook.  Caleb  told 
him  he  had  made  a  remittance  of  a  thousand  dollars  to 
his  creditors  in  Boston  the  day  before,  and  had  but  about 
a  hundred  dollars  that  he  could  lay  his  hands  on.  "  I  don't 
believe  that  there  is  anybody  in  town  who  has  any  thing 
near  fifteen  hundred  dollars,"  added  Caleb,  "  unless  it  is  Seth 
Mettlar;  and  he  was  telling  me  yesterday  he  wanted  to  let 
out   twenty-five  hundred  dollars  on  bond  and  mortgage." 


V 


FAMILY    HISTORY.  235 


Another  tradesman  had  about  two  hundred  dollars  on  hand, 
which  he  told  Gomery  was  at  his  service,  adding  the  same 
remark  that  Thornton  had  made  in  regard  to  Seth  Met- 
tlar.  But  Squire  Gomery  would  none  of  Mettlar's  money, 
and  was  only  able  to  obtain  six  hundred  dollars  in  the  whole 
town.  With  this  he  went  to  see  the  messenger  at  the  hotel, 
and  told  him  he  would  make  up  the  balance  by  an  order 
on  his  son  in  New  York.  But  the  man,  in  his  conversation 
with  the  people  about  the  hotel,  had  learned,  that,  since 
Gomery's  great  lawsuit  with  Seth  Mettlar,  he  had  nothing  in 
his  own  name,  and  in  fact  owned  nothing.  "  Was  his  credit 
good  ?  "  the  stranger  asked.  "  Good  ! "  replied  Caleb  Thorn- 
ton, sen.,  to  whom  the  question  was  addressed :  "  any  man 
in  this  place  would  trust  him  for  any  amount  he  might  ask 
for,  without  note  or  security.  You  must  be  a  stranger  about 
here,  I  guess,  not  to  know  the  reputation  that  old  Squire 
Gomery  holds  in  these  parts." 

Yet  this  did  not  satisfy  the  messenger.  "How  do  I 
know,"  said  he,  "that  your  son  would  pay  the  order?  I 
have  seen  too  much  of  that  thing.  I've  known  heaps  of  men 
down  South,  high-toned  gentlemen,  and  men  of  the  nicest 
sense  of  honor,  give  such  drafts  when  they  knew  they  would 
not  be  paid.     Have  you  any  money  in  your  son's  hands  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  I  am  not  the  less  sure  the  draft  would  be  paid." 

"  Well,  you  may  be  sure ;  but  I  am  not.  And  how  do 
I  know  but  that  it  is  a  trap  laid  to  expose  me  ?  Your  son 
that  we  catched  trying  to  run  off  our  niggers  promised  me, 
that,  if  I  would  deliver  that  letter  into  your  hands,  you  would 
pay  me  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  and  five  hundred  more  after 
the  thing  comes  off." 

"  What  thing  comes  off  ?  " 

"I  mean,  after  he  is  hung." 

A  cold  perspiration  stood  on  the  forehead  of  Squire  Gom- 
ery. Never  in  all  his  life  had  man  addressed  him  so  before. 
He  could  not  resent  it,  nor  could  he  close  the  interview. 
"  Stay,"  said  he :  "  you  shall  have  your  money,  if  I  sell  my 
heart's  blood."  The  only  way  to  raise  the  money  in  time 
was  to  apply  to  Seth  Mettlar.  Pride  must  yield ;  even  self- 
respect  must  be  stifled.  The  man  who  had  robbed  him,  and 
wronged  him  worst  of  all  men  in  the  world,  was  the  only 
one  who  could  furnish  the  money  that  he  must  have.  Hu- 
miliating as  it  was,  he  must  apply  to  him. 


236  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

He  accordingly  left  the  hotel,  and  bent  his  steps  towards 
Seth's  house.  Yesterday  he  would  sooner  have  been  seen 
entering  a  den  of  shame.  But  between  yesterday  and  to-day 
had  rolled  the  sea  of  boundless  sorrow.  In  appearance,  he 
was  very  different  this  day  from  what  he  had  ever  been 
before.  All  who  met  him  remarked  the  entire  absence  of  his 
usual  mirth,  his  free,  hilarious  manner.  He  was  serious  and 
abstracted ;  and,  if  any  old  friend  or  neighbor  stopped  him 
for  a  few  moments  in  the  street  to  talk  about  any  of  the 
usual  matters  of  interest  about  town,  he  gave  no  heed,  but 
seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something  else.  In  fact,  this 
change  of  manner  had  been  observed  by  so  many,  that  before 
noon  it  was  reported  by  everybody  to  everybody  in  the  vil- 
lage that  there  was  serious  trouble  up  at  the  Pivot. 

But,  when  it  was  reported  that  Squire  Gomery  had  been 
seen  to  approach  and  enter  the  splendid  mansion  of  Seth 
Mettlar,  the  wonder  of  the  people  knew  no  bounds.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Matthew  Staples,  who  lived  half  a  mile  from 
the  village,  beyond  Seth's  house,  came  in  in  the  afternoon  to  in- 
quire what  had  befallen  old  Squire  Gomery ;  for  his  little  boy 
saw  him  walking  away  from  Mettlar^s,  and  he  was  a-crying. 

When  Gomery  knocked  at  Seth  Mettlar's  door,  he  was 
ushered  into  the  sitting-room,  where  was  sitting,  musing 
alone,  the  wife  of  the  man  of  business  and  rewarded  virtue. 
The  squire  had  not  seen  her  before  for  a  year.  But  how 
changed  was  she  from  what  he  had  known  her!  Then  she 
had  been  blonde,  beautiful,  and  sprightly.  He  thought  of 
the  times  before  Walter  went  away,  when  he  used  to  see  her 
very  frequently.  He  remembered  the  sweet,  gentle  voice, 
the  merry  ring  of  her  laugh,  the  smile  of  most  witching 
sweetness,  that  disclosed  two  dimples,  which,  indeed,  were 
scarce  ever  seen ;  for  the  merry,  glancing  eyes,  and  the  round, 
red  lips,  that,  parted,  showed  a  set  of  teeth  of  ivory  white- 
ness, were  ever  diverting  the  eyes  of  the  gazer  from  the 
peach-blown  cheeks  with  their  matchless  dimples.  She  had 
always  been  of  slender  form,  with  an  airy,  ethereal  grace  seen 
only  once  in  ten  thousand  of  those  who  pass  for  beautiful. 
One  could  hardly  imagine  any  thing  material  as  j^ertaining 
to  her.  To  Squire  Gomery  she  had  then  seemed  more  like  a 
fairy  than  a  woman ;  and  her  very  presence  seemed  to  diffuse 
a  glow  of  joy  and  happiness.     ^ 

It  was  such  a  being  that  Squire  Gomery  remembered ;  and 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  237 

when  he  saw  the  wife  of  Seth  Mettlar  before  him,  the  sight 
smote  him  to  the  heart.  He  had  passed  a  harsh  judgment 
on  her  once ;  but  now,  when  he  saw  her  so  changed  and 
faded,  so  evidently  miserable,  he  condemned  himself,  and 
not  her. 

" Is  your  husband  in,  madam?"  was  his  first  expression  after 
entering. 

She  raised  a  look  of  such  sad,  beseeching  grief  to  him, 
that  his  heart  smote  him  again.  Rising  up,  and  partly  sup- 
porting herself  by  her  chair,  she  said,  "  He  is  in  his  room. 
Ruth,  tell  Mr.  Mettlar  that  Squire  Gomery  wishes  to  see 
him." 

"I  have  some  private  business,"  said  he,  "and  had,  per- 
haps, better  see  him  in  his  office." 

"  Then  show  him  through  the  hall  to  Mr.  Mettlar's  room," 
said  she  to  the  servant.  The  maid  led  the -way,  opening  the 
door  into  a  long  entry,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  was  Seth's 
private  room,. or  office,  where  he  performed  his  devotions, 
and  figured  up  his  accounts.  In  the  former,  even  with  his 
bright  example  constantly  before  her,  she  could  never  be 
induced  to  join  her  husband. 

Gomery  followed  the  servant  across  the  room,  and  was  just 
passing  through  the  door,  when  he  felt  a  slight  touch  on  his 
arm.  He  turned ;  and  the  woman  was  at  his  elbow,  her  face 
excited,  her  eyes  suffused  ;  and  in  a  hurried  whisper  she  said, 
"  Is  it  any  news  of  Walter  ?  I  know  its  something  dread- 
ful. Tell  him  I  am  dying."  She  sank  into  a  seat  as  she 
snid  this;  and  the  old  man  replied,  "It  is  news  from 
Walter ;  and  you  are  not  the  only  one  that  is  dying,  or  soon 
to  die." 

He  passed  through  the  hall,  and  entered  the  sanctum  of 
the  man  whose  virtuous  acts  had  been  so  signally  rewarded 
as  to  confound  all  doubters  in  special  providences.  He  had 
a  lot  of  papers  before  him  that  he  was  busily  engaged  upon ; 
but  no  sooner  did  his  eyes  rest  on  the  tall  form  of  Freeborn 
Gomery  than  he  turned  pale,  and  a  look  of  conscious  guilt, 
as  if  he  felt  that  the  hour  of  detection  had  come,  overspread 
his  face.  The  other  observed  it,  and  rightly  interpreted  its 
meaning.  But  he  had  not  come  to  inspire  terror;  and  the 
expression  of  his  face  clearly  showed  it.  "Mr.  Mettlar," 
said  he,  "  you  doubtless  think  it  strange  to  see  me  here ;  but 
an  unforeseen  event  compels  me  to  come." 


238  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY: 

"Ah!"  said  Seth,  approaching,  and  offering  a  chair,  "I 
am  delighted  to  see  you  in  my  house  !  You  make  me  very 
proud  and  happy !  It  is  not  Christian-like  to  remember  our 
enmities,  but  to  forgive  and  forget ;  and,  before  you  ask  me, 
I  say  I  forgive  every  thing.  Though  you  have  harbored 
unjust  feelings  towards  me,  I  freely  forgive  you,  and  hope 
that  henceforth  we  shall  be  good  friends.  Oh  the  delight 
it  would  give  my  heart  to  meet  you  in  our  church  (the 
only  true  church),  and  unite  with  you  in  singing  hosanna? 
to  the  Lamb ! " 

"Mr.  Mettlar,"  said  Gomery,  "I  have  not  come  to  talk  of 
the  past.  I  find  I  must  have  some  money  to-day;  more  than 
can  be  found  in  town,  except  what  is  in  your  hands.  I  come 
to  you  to  ask  you  to  lend  me  nine  hundred  dollars  for  ten 
days;  and  this,  too,  though  you  have  a  large  judgment  against 
me  that  has  never  been  paid,  and  never  will  be.  This,  how- 
ever, will  be  promptly  paid  if  you  choose  to  lend  it  to  me." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Gomery!  it  will  afford  me  the  greatest  pleasure 
to  accommodate  you.  But  do  take  a  seat.  You  can  have 
three  times  the  amount,  and  as  long  as  you  like.  I  want  to 
show  you  the  forgiveness  that  only  those  can  feel  who  have 
put  away  the  carnal  heart,  and  are  regenerated  into  the  new 
life,  that  my  example  may  win  others  to  the  fold.  O  my 
dear  Mr.  Gomery !  if  I  could  only  be  the  instrument  of  win- 
ning you  to  repentance,  it  would  "  — 

"  I  have  no  time  to  spare  for  conversation,  Mr.  Mettlar," 
said  Gomery,  still  standing.  "  I  am  in  a  hurry ;  and,  if  you 
will  let  me  have  the  money  for  a  few  days,  I  will  pay  you 
principal  and  interest,  and  a  bonus  besides  if  you  ask  it." 

"  I  don't  ask  interest.  I  am  only  too  happy  to  serve  you. 
Do  take  a  seat ! " 

The  lawyer  still  remained  standing;  and  Seth,  seeing  that 
his  honeyed  words  had  no  effect  to  draw  him  into  a  conversa- 
tion, opened  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  and  took  out  a  package 
of  five-hundred-dollar  bills,  and  four  others  of  a  hundred 
dollars  each. 

The  old  man  took  them ;  and,  seeing  that  the  amount  was 
correct,  said,  "  Will  you  write  me  a  note  for  this  ?  " 

"No  matter  about  a  note  among  honorable  men  and 
friends,  you  know  :   it  don't  signify." 

"  I  must  leave  a  note,"  said  he,  stepping  up  to  the  desk, 
and  taking  up  pen  and  paper.    As  soon  as  he  had  written 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  239 

the  note  and  signed  it,  he  said,  "You  are  entitled  to  my 
thanks  for  this,  and  you  have  them ;"  and  with  this  he  walked 
from  the  room  just  as  the  servant  entered  and  said  to  Met- 
tlar,  "  Will  you,  please,  sir,  come  and  see  missis  ?  for  she  is 
took  poorly." 

The  lawyer  went  directly  to  the  tavern,  and  found  the  mes- 
senger, and  told  him  he  had  got  the  money.  "This  evening, 
however,"  said  he,  "I  shall  see  you  again.  I  shall  give  you  an 
order  on  myself  for  five  hundred  dollars,  to  be  paid  when  it 
is  returned  to  me  with  the  signature  of  my  son,  to  prove  to 
him,  before  he  dies,  that  we  have  got  his  letter,  and  to  prove 
to  me  also,  on  its  return  for  payment,  that  he  received  our 
letter  to  him." 

"But  it  will  involve  me  in  no  danger,  will  it?"  said  the 
other,  thinking  only  of  the  safety  of  his  own  wretched 
carcass. 

"  Not  the  least,"  replied  Gomery. 

"  Oh,  well ;  then  it  is  all  right !  I  am  mighty  shy  of  you 
Yankees.  If  I  was  among  Southern  gentlemen,  of  course 
I  would  never  think  of  being  so  particular." 

"I  appreciate  your  Southern  honor,  and  therefore  don't 
ask  you  to  be  honest  without  paying  you  for  it.  After  you 
return,  you  can  probably  get  an  interview  with  my  son ;  and, 
on  delivering  the  messages  of  his  mother  and  myself,  he  will 
sign  the  bill  drawn  to  his  order,  and  you  can  come  here 
again  at  such  time  as  you  like  (after  the  whole  affair  is 
over,  if  you  think  it  safer),  and  I  shall  pay  the  money :  or 
you  can  send  it  to  me  by  mail ;  and,  when  it  comes  back  with 
his  indorsement,  I  will  pay  it,  and  send  you  the  money  by 
drafts  in  duplicate;  so  that  you  will  be  sure  to  get  it,  and  no 
one  but  yourself  will  know  where  it  comes  from.  I  never 
before  paid  money  so  willingly ;  and  sooner  than  have  failed 
of  receiving  the  letter  you  brought,  or  have  received  it  when 
it  was  too  late  for  him  to  have  got  my  answer,  I  would  have 
given  every  thing  I  have  in  the  world,  and  bound  myself  a 
slave  for  life,  —  yes,  a  slave  to  that  rascal  Mettlar." 

The  messenger  promised  to  deliver  faithfully,  "  as  a  man 
of  honor,"  whatever  was  intrusted  to  him ;  and  the  old  man 
left  him,  to  return  to  the  Pivot  to  prepare,  in  conjunction  with 
his  wife,  their  messages  to  the  unfortunate  Walter. 

Late  in  the  evening,  the  squire  returned  to  the  hotel,  and 
was  again  closeted  with  the  stranger.     Of  the  latter's  visit, 


240  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

nobody  in  the  village  suspected  the  object  or  purpose  ;  but  all 
surmised  that  great  grief  had  fallen  on  the  house  of  Gomery. 
Seth  Mettlar,  having  been  relieved  of  attendance  on  his  wife 
by  the  entrance  of  her  mother  at  one  door  at  the  moment 
Gomery  left  at  the  other,  returned  to  his  room,  and  fell  into  a 
profound  reflection.  "  It  is  strange,"  said  he :  "  what  does  it 
mean  ?  But  I  have  got  him  now  so  he  can't  lord  it  over  me  any 
more.  He's  had  to  come  down  at  last.  I  am  afraid,  though,  I 
come  it  a  little  too  strong  on  the  religion.  He's  too  old  a  bird 
to  be  caught  with  chaff.  But  I  have  him  on  the  hip,  and  I'll 
make  the  most  of  it."  Saying  thi#,  he  sallied  forth  into  the 
street,  and  walked  towards  the  village,  telling  everybody  he 
met  of  Gomery's  application  for  money;  and,  dwelling  with 
great  unction  on  his  own  Christian  forgiveness  of  a  man  who 
had  so  wronged  and  slandered  him,  he  expressed  the  hope 
that  his  coming  to  him  was  an  act  of  self-humiliation,  indicat- 
ing a  change  of  heart. 

The  next  morning,  the  stranger  departed;  and  the  town  was 
as  ignorant  as  ever  of  his  business. 

Three  days  were  to  elapse  before  the  lawyer  could  give  a 
sign  of  what  had  been  the  errand  of  the  stranger.  He  was 
not  seen  in  the  village  during  all  that  time.  But  some  of 
the  more  curious  or  sympathetic  of  his  neighbors  had  gone 
to  the  Pivot,  and  found  that  he  had  changed  wonderfully.  He 
looked  haggard  and  care-worn  ;  and,  whether  true  or  no,  they 
said  that  his  hair  had  changed  from  iron-gray  to  white.  Mrs. 
Gomery  saw  nobody;  but  the  servants  said  that  neither  she 
nor  her  husband  had  slept  a  wink  since  the  stranger  arrived. 
They  knew  he  had  brought  evil  tidings  of  Walter;  for  his 
mother  was  all  the  time  wandering  about  the  house,  and  was 
often  heard  speaking  his  name. 

On  the  third  day,  orders  were  given  to  have  the  carriage 
and  horses  ready  for  a  journey.  The  afflicted  parents  had 
determined  to  hasten  to  New  York :  the  journey  was  very 
different  from  what  it  had  been  twenty  years  before,  when 
the  squire  made  the  whole  distance  in  his  own  carriage ;  for 
now  it  was  only  twenty  miles  to  a  railroad  station.  In 
their  helplessness  to  do  any  thing  effective  of  themselves, 
they  thought  that  perhaps  the  rich  and  influential  friends  of 
their  other  children  might  enlist  the  efforts  and  interven- 
tion of  the  State  Governors,  or  perhaps  of  the  President, 
in  behalf  of  Walter.    All  was  prepared  for  setting  out  early 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  241 

the  next  morning;  and  the  two  farm-servants  were  sitting  by 
the  kitchen-fire,  preparing  to  go  to  bed,  when  the  maid  came 
running  in,  and  said  her  mistress  was  dying.  They  all  rushed 
into  the  parlor ;  and  the  woman  was  sitting  in  her  arm-chair, 
as  rigid  as  death,  her  eyes  fixed,  her  face  bloodless,  and  white 
as  snow.  The  squire  spoke  to  her  ;  but  she  neither  heard  nor 
answered. 

Without  orders,  one  of  the  young  men  ran  to  the  stable, 
and,  mounting  a  cart-horse,  galloped  like  mad  down  the  hill 
to  the  village ;  and  seeing  a  group  in  front  of  the  tavern, 
among  whom  was  old  Dr.  Cary  and  young  Dr.  Bacon,  he 
dashed  up  to  it,  and,  before  he  could  be  questioned,  exclaimed, 
"  Lady  Gomery  is  a-dying ! "  Mat  Staples,  who  had  a  horse  and 
wagon  standing  near,  took  the  old  doctor,  and  drove  off  at  a 
gallop;  while  the  younger Esculapius  mounted  a  saddled  horse 
that  stood  by,  and  without  asking  who  was  the  owner,  or 
saying  "By  your  leave,"  soon  left  the  old  man  in  the  carriage 
far  in  the  rear. 

Soon  there  was  a  rush  of  people  towards  the  Pivot.  Delica- 
cy no  longer  forbade  their  approach  ;  for,  if  Death  is  supposed 
to  be  going  before,  he  breaks  down  many  barriers. 

There  was  great  confusion  at  the  Pivot  when  the  doctors 
arrived.  Everybody  was  running,  and  ordering  everybody 
else.  The  old  squire  alone  was  calm.  The  doctors  examined 
the  patient,  who,  by  this  time,  had  been  placed  upon  a  bed. 
They  pronounced  it  a  case  of  partial  paralysis,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  bleed,  and  give  such  "  doctor's  stuff"  as  they  had 
heard  was  usually  given  in  such  cases.  The  house  was  soon 
crowded  with  people  from  the  village ;  and  all  the  old  nurses 
and  women  skilled  in  ushering  people  into  the  world,  and  dis- 
posing them  decently  to  leave  it,  flocked  with  their  camphors, 
their  catnip,  their  hoarhound,  and  thorough  wort,  to  render 
their  assistance  to  the  sufferer.  One  old  lady,  forgetful  of  the 
season,  carried  her  old  copper  wTarming-pan. 

Among  others  Seth  Mettlar  went,  if  not  to  render  assist- 
ance, to  tender  his  condolence.  Poor  old  Mr.  Gomery  was 
looking  anxiously  at  his  wife,  while  the  nurse  was  rubbing 
her  forehead  and  temples.  His  face  had  a  terrible  calmness,; 
but  the  hard  lines  made  clearly  visible  the  deep  anguish  that 
was  tearing  at  his  heart-strings.  As  he  stood  looking  thus, 
he  heard  the  voice  of  Seth  Mettlar  raised  above  all  other 

VOL.  II.  21 


242  GOMERY    OP   MONTGOMERY. 

sounds,  save  only  the  hard  and  distressed  breathing  of  the 
patient. 

"  In  the  midst  of  life,  we  are  in  death,"  said  he  ;  "  and  we 
should  all  take  warning  from  this  afflicting  dispensation,  and 
be  ready.  O  my  friends !  you  don't  know  how  my  heart 
bleeds  when  I  see  so  many  going  unprepared  to  judgment!" 

The  old  man  heard  him  thus  far.  At  the  first  sound  of  his 
voice,  a  shudder  passed  through  his  frame,  and  his  look  of 
pain  changed  to  one  of  horror  and  disgust.  The  thought 
went  through  his  mind,  that,  if  his  wife  were  to  see  and  recog- 
nize Mettlar,  the  sight  of  him  would  strike  her  dead ;  for,  even 
unconscious  as  she  was,  she  started  up  at  the  tones  of  his 
voice,  and  stared  wildly  around  as  if  they  had  a  power  to 
infuriate.  "  Walter,  Walter,  Walter! "  she  cried,  and  sank  back 
exhausted  on  the  bed.  The  squire  could  bear  this  no  longer. 
He  knew  that  Seth's  presence  was  the  insult  of  a  hypocrite, 
and  was  endangering  the  life  of  one  worth  a  thousand  Met- 
tlars.  He  advanced  towards  him,  and,  with  a  look  before  which 
the  snake  quivered  and  shrunk,  he  uttered,  in  a  deep  whisper 
that  caused  all  who  heard  it  to  recoil,  "  Leave  this  house,  and 
never  darken  my  doors  again  !  "  The  chapfallen  wretch 
sneaked  off,  not  daring  to  raise  his  eyes,  yet  casting  back  a 
Parthian  retort:  "It  is  just  as  I  expected  :  how  can  we  ex- 
pect gratitude  from  the  ungodly  ?  " 

The  night  wore  off;  and  towards  morning,  what  with  the 
bleeding  and  the  medicine,  it  seemed  pretty  clear  that  this 
shock  was  not  to  be  fatal;  and  the  old  doctor  told  the  squire 
to  cheer  up,  for  he  now  thought  that  his  wife  would  yet  re- 
cover. 

She  did,  indeed,  recover ;  but  she  was  hanging,  as  it  were, 
between  life  and  death,  during  those  precious  hours  which  they 
had  hoped  to  have  employed  in  behalf  of  Walter.  As  soon, 
however,  as  his  wife  had  sufficiently  regained  her  conscious- 
ness to  recall  the  past,  she  insisted  that  he  should  leave  her, 
and  go  alone  to  New  York,  and  see  if  something  could  not 
be  done  to  avert  the  impending  and  fatal  blow  from  their  un- 
happy boy.  When,  therefore,  he  perceived  that  all  immediate 
danger  to  his  wife  was  past,  he  departed  accordingly;  and,  as 
no  one  in  the  village  besides  themselves  yet  knew  the  cause 
of  all  these  strange  and  mysterious  movements,  the  curiosity 
of  people  was  piqued,  and  some  said  it  was  unfeeling  in  him 
to  go  off  leaving  his  wife  in  so  weakly  a  condition.    Seth 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  243 

Mettlar  said, "  It  was  the  act  of  an  ungenerate  reprobate,  and 
that,  if  he  had  not  paid  the  note  the  minute  it  was  due,  he 
would  have  sued  him,  and  had  him  arrested.  Kindness  was 
thrown  away  on  such  ingrates !  It  must  henceforth  be  war, 
as  before." 

He  had  been  gone  but  a  couple  of  days,  when  a  newspaper, 
that  found  its  way  to  Montgomery,  let  in  a  flood  of  light  on 
the  mystery  of  the  strange  proceedings  that  had  lately  been 
witnessed  at  the  Pivot.  There  had  been  various  accounts,  in 
the  public  journals  that  came  to  the  village,  of  the  escape  of 
a  large  number  of  slaves  from  Georgia;  and,  in  all  of  them, 
it  had  been  said  that  they  had  been  instigated  to  the  act  by 
a  rascally  Yankee,  who  was  to  have  so  much  a  head  for  all 
that  escaped ;  that  said  Yankee  was  an  infamous  character, 
who  had  been  twice  in  the  penitentiary,  —  once  for  forgery, 
and  once  for  horse-stealing;  and  that,  while  in  Georgia,  he  had 
been  found  several  times  in  the  negro-quarters,  making  love 
to  the  wenches,  causing  great  scandal  and  disgust  in  that 
moral  and  virtuous  community.  But  his  name  was  never 
given;  he  was  usually  called  the  young  Caliban  :  and  conse- 
quently the  quiet  village  of  Montgomery  was  not  a  little 
startled  at  learning  from  a  New- York  paper  that  the  name 
of  the  culprit  was  at  last  ascertained,  and  that  it  was  Walter 
Gomery,  of  Montgomery,  State  of ;  and  that  he  be- 
longed to  a  very  respectable  family,  on  whom  he  had  brought 
great  shame  and  sorrow  by  his  perverse  and  wicked  life. 

It  has  been  seen  that  the  town  of  Montgomery,  in  the 
course  of  its  history,  was  subjected  to  many  exciting  incidents. 
But  never  had  there  been  so  great  an  excitement  as  when 
this  news  was  received.  Everybody  was  dumfounded ;  and 
yet  everybody  talked  about  it.  But,  though  everybody 
talked,  there  was  only  one  man  to  do  any  thing.  That 
one  was  Seth  Mettlar.  He  at  once  sat  down  and  wrote 
a  letter,  which  he  addressed  to  the  postmaster  of  Lancaster, 

F County,  Ga.      In  this  letter   he   said,  that   having 

observed  in  a  newspaper  a  notice  of  a  young  man  by  the 
name  of  Walter  Gomery,  who  had  been  caught  in  the  mon- 
strous crime  of  enticing  away  slaves  (and  who  was  held  as 
a  prisoner  to  answer  for  the  act),  his  conscience  would  not 
let  him  rest  until  he  had  informed  the  authorities  having  him 
in  charge  of  the  true  character  of  their  prisoner,  and  of  the 
plans  and  machinations  of  his  abetters.     The  father  of  this 


244  GOMEEY    OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

young  culprit  was  as  bad  as  himself,  and  was,  no  doubt,  a 
party  to  bis  crimes;  and,  when  he  heard  that  justice  was  like 
to  overtake  his  vagabond  son,  he  immediately  raised  a  large 
sum  of  money,  and  went  away ;  and  doubtless  a  desperate 
effort  would  be  made  to  rescue  the  criminal.  The  letter  was 
concluded  by  a  series  of  moral  reflections,  in  which  the  im- 
piety and  wickedness  of  those  who  sought  to  destroy  our 
glorious  Constitution  by  setting  free  those  whom  God  had 
ordained  to  be  slaves,  as  shown  by  the  curse  pronounced 
against  Canaan,  was  denounced  with  great  propriety  and 
unction.  What  a  reprobate  he  must  be  who  objected  to  the 
practice  of  raising  babies  to  sell,  when  it  was  so  clearly  of 
divine  origin,  besides  being  profitable  ! 

When  the  old  man  reached  New  York,  he  had  no  idea 
what  he  was  going  to  do.  He  consulted  his  oldest  son  and 
son-in-law  and  daughters;  and  his  second  son,  Wirtimir,  came 
on  from  Philadelphia  to  advise  with  them  on  the  unfortu- 
nate occurrence.  They  were  all  in  deep  affliction ;  but  what 
could  they  do  ?  The  old  man  proposed  to  go  down  to  Geor- 
gia, and  intercede  with  those  who  held  his  son  a  prisoner; 
for  he  said  they  would  surely  respect  his  gray  hairs.  But 
the  children  would  not  listen  to  it ;  for  they  said,  that,  instead 
of  relieving  Walter,  he  would  only  share  his  fate.  They  would, 
however,  interest  all  the  men  of  influence  they  could  ap- 
proach, senators,  members  of  Congress,  and  others,  who  had 
been  as  obedient  to  the  behests  of  the  South,  and  had  ab- 
jured their  own  manhood  as  effectually,  as  if  they  had  them- 
selves been  slaves,  to  write  letters  to  the  leading  men  of  the 
South,  and  endeavor  to  enlist  their  interference ;  and  Wir- 
timir, on  his  return,  was  to  go  on  to  Washington,  and 
intercede  for  the  good  offices  of  the  President.  But  the 
sons  did  not  regard  the  act  of  Walter  in  the  same  light  as 
did  the  father.  He  looked  upon  it  as  most  exalted,  and  sub- 
limely heroic.  They  felt,  that,  however  noble  and  self-sacrifi- 
cing his  motives,  he  had,  in  the  existing  state  of  public  opinion, 
disgraced  his  family.  It  was  the  custom  to  speak  contemp- 
tuously of  those  who  interfered  with  the  sacred  institution  ; 
and  a  man  incurred  less  obloquy  if  caught  robbing  the  mail, 
or  breaking  a  bank-vault,  than  if  detected  giving  food  and 
shelter  to  a  fleeing  fugitive.  His  sons,  in  the  whirl  of  busi- 
ness, and  surrounded  by  those  intent  on  money-making,  had 
imbibed  the  ideas  of  the  Mammon-worshippers,  and,  as  long 
as  slavery  paid,  thought  that  it  was  wrong  to  disturb  it. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  245 

With  this  poor  consolation,  Gomery  of  Montgomery  re- 
turned to  his  own  home.  The  means  proposed  by  his  other 
sons  for  the  relief  of  Walter,  he  felt  couscious,  could  do  no 
good.  Nor  could  he  think  of  any  thing  more  effectual ;  and, 
as  he  reflected  on  the  matter,  he  said,  "I  shall  see  his  face 
no  more !  He  has  been  a  good  boy,  and  has  gladdened  my 
heart  a  thousand  times ;  and  for  that  let  God  be  thanked !  The 
Lord  giveth,  and  the  Lord  taketh  away :  blessed  be  the 
name  of  the  Lord  ! " 

The  bringer  of  unwelcome  news  to  the  house  of  Gomery 
had  returned  to  his  home,  and  found  that  no  suspicion  was 
entertained  of  what  he  had  been  doing.  He  had  found 
opportunity  to  deliver  the  letter  of  the  old  squire  to  Walter, 
and  to  get  his  order  indorsed  by  him  ;  after  which  his  mind 
was  easy,  and  he  was  well  satisfied  that  he  had  served 
himself  to  good  purpose,  at  the  same  time  that  he  had 
preserved  his  honor.  The  letter  of  Mettlar  was  received 
within  %  couple  of  days  after  Larcomb's  return,  and  it  excit- 
ed great  astonishment,  not  so  much  at  the  information  it 
contained,  as  at  the  noble  sentiments  it  expressed ;  and  the 
remark  passed  round,  that  it  was  strange  how  so  bright  a 
light  could  exist  in  so  dark  a  place.  But  as  to  the  rescue,  if 
there  should  be  any  signs  of  an  attempt  of  that  kind,  they 
would  nip  it  in  the  bud,  and  "take  a  bond  of  fate." 

But,  the  next  day,  a  paper  from  the  North  contained  an 
account  of  the  arrival  of  the  "Good  Intent"  at  Boston, 
where  she  had  been  sold,  and  her  passengers  and  crew  had  all 
continued  their  way  towards  the  north  star,  hoping  to  reach 
so  high  a  latitude,  that  the  ground  would  no  longer  hold  the 
scent  for  the  human  hounds  that  might  be  put  upon  the 
track.  They  fled  from  a  land  of  freedom  to  a  land  of  des- 
potism. Benighted  souls !  They  told  the  story  of  their  own 
escape,  with  this  addition  to  what  was  already  known  of  it, — 
that  they  were  suspected  at  the  last  moment  by  a  Yankee 
schoolmaster,  who,  soon  after  they  started,  gathered  a  com- 
pany of  overseers  and  planters,  that  pursued  them  on  a  fast 
steamer,  which  chanced  to  come  in  a  few  hours  after  they 
left,  and  were  on  the  point  of  capturing  them,  when  the 
steamer,  by  a  special  Providence,  was  disabled  or  blown  up, 
and  they  all  escaped  to  sea.  So  it  seems  that  special  Provi- 
dence had  his  hands  full,  —  first  in  providing  a  steamer  in 
the  nick  of  time  to  catch  the  runaways ;  and  next  in  break- 

21* 


246  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

ing  the  engine  when  they  were  about  to  do  it ;  then  in  fur- 
nishing a  victim  for  sacrifice,  whose  fate  should  be  a  warning 
to  deter  other  like  attempts;  and  lastly  by  giving  good 
breezes  to  the  fugitives  to  encourage  others  to  do  likewise. 
But,  from  time  immemorial,  Providence  always  interferes  on 
the  side  of  those  who  recognize  his  hand,  and  in  favor  of 
their  doxy,  and  against  their  enemies  and  their  doxy ;  but 
all  regard  him  as  a  most  orthodox  intermeddler. 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  247 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

"  Give  sorrow  words :  the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o'erfraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break."— Macbeth. 

The  wisdom  of  ages  of  experience  has  been  condensed 
into  a  few  maxims.  Inevitable  results  from  given  premises 
have  become  proverbs ;  and  the  forces  of  Nature,  in  both  the 
moral  and  material  world,  have,  through  the  convictions  of 
centuries,  become  axioms  of  truth  to  men,  so  common  and 
familiar,  that  they  are  accepted  as  infallible  rules  of  action. 
The  equilibrium  and  equivalents  of  Nature  are  felt,  rather 
than  believed,  to  pervade  the  universe ;  and  men  believe  and 
act  in  a  thousand  things,  in  violation  of  their  own  reason  and 
perceptions,  from  the  influence  of  a  power  extraneous  to 
themselves.  Men  will  admit  all  the  premises  that  logically 
and  inevitably  lead  to  a  certain  result ;  and  yet  they  will 
utterly  and  unhesitatingly  reject  the  natural  conclusion. 
Neither  subtlety  of  argument,  nor  sophistries,  nor  success, 
can  prevent  the  majority  of  people  from  a  correct  apprecia- 
tion of  what  is  intrinsically  right  or  inherently  wrong.  There 
is  in  Nature  a  sort  of  balance-wheel,  which  men  call  moral 
power,  that,  in  spite  of  superstition  or  prerogative  or  igno- 
rance or  ambition,  asserts  its  sway,  and  finally  sets  its  seal 
upon  all.  This  moral  power  is  the  divine  part  of  human 
nature ;  and,  like  the  bow  in  the  cloud,  is  set  in  the  heart  of 
man  as  a  sign  that  darkness  will  never  again  overspread  the 
earth.  Neither  wealth  nor  station,  nor  showy  parts,  nor 
plausible  manners,  avail  in  the  long-run  against  the  deep 
convictions,  the  intelligent  judgment,  and  every-day  life,  that 
constitute  moral  worth,  and  bear  a  moral  weight  in  the  coun- 
sels of  men.  The  balance  of  the  public  mind  may  be  dis- 
turbed, for  a  time,  by  transient  influences ;  but  moral  power 
sooner  or  later  asserts  its  superiority,  and  commands  respect, 
even  when  its  voice  comes  up  from  the  depths  of  adversity 
and  sorrow. 


248  GOMERY   OP   MONTGOMERY! 

The  truth  of  these  platitudes  and  commonplaces  was  emi- 
nently illustrated  by  the  position  held  in  Montgomery  by 
Freeborn  Gomery,  after  he  had  been  despoiled  of  his  proper- 
ty, and  bitter  domestic  sorrow  had  invaded  his  home.  Seth 
Mettlar  had  triumphed  in  every  thing;  he  had  become  rich; 
he  had  seen  the  man  whom  he  most  hated,  because  he  had 
wronged  him,  crushed  by  other  afflictions ;  and  he  had  plant- 
ed a  barbed  arrow  in  his  heart  by  robbing  him  of  one  whom 
he  had  regarded  almost  as  his  own  child,  and  who,  with  that 
son  now  about  to  die  an  infamous  death,  was  to  have  been  the 
solace  and  staff  of  his  declining  years.  He  was  now  the  richest 
man  in  the  place ;  and,  to  carry  forward  any  public  work  or 
improvement,  he  must,  first  of  all,  be  consulted.  And  yet 
he  was  not  the  happy  man  he  had  expected  to  be.  There 
was  always  a  Mordecai  in  his  gate,  and  that  Mordecai  was 
Freeborn  Gomery.  He  felt  that  people  did  not  and  would 
not  respect  him ;  that  the  man  of  real  power  and  influence, 
in  spite  of  all  his  afflictions  and  adversities,  was  Gomery  of 
Montgomery.  A  suspicion  soon  got  abroad,  too,  that  he  was 
not  so  happy  at  home  as  newly  married  people  are  supposed 
to  be :  though  he  invited  much  company  to  his  house,  yet 
few  visited  it,  and  those  few  always  had  the  same  story  to 
tell.  Seth  tried  excessively  to  be  agreeable ;  but  his  wife  was 
a  statue.  She  never  had  a  word  of  welcome  at  the  entrance 
of  former  friends  and  schoolmates,  or  of  regret  at  their  de- 
parture ;  and  they  found  the  atmosphere  of  the  house  so  som- 
bre and  chilling,  in  spite  of  bright  lights,  warm  fires,  and 
Seth's  forced  smiles,  that  they  soon  gave  up  such  unsatisfac- 
tory visits.  A  few  months  after  the  marriage,  it  was 
observed  that  even  Mrs.  Homer  did  not  talk  in  so  self-sat- 
isfied a  manner  of  the  marriage  and  settlement  of  her  daugh- 
ter. Her  son  Obed  was  leading  a  dissipated  life,  and  fast 
squandering  his  father's  property  ;  and,  as  she  thought  of  this, 
she  consoled  herself,  that,  at  any  rate,  Hester  had  married  a 
rich  man. 

Poor  old  Thomas  Homer  was  growing  old  apace.  He  had 
never  shared  in  his  wife's  or  his  son's  plans  to  compass  the 
ruin  and  misery  of  his  daughter;  and  he  now  blamed  himself 
for  his  passive  assent.  Why  had  he  not  asserted  his  author- 
ity in  time?  Alas!  in  his  doting  fondness  for  his  first-born, 
he  had  allowed  him,  during  the  long  and  painful  suffering 
that  had  resulted  from  the  accident  to  his  leg,  to  become 


A   FAMILY    HISTOET.  249 

master  of  the  house.  In  his  paternal  love  and  tenderness, 
he  allowed  the  sceptre  to  pass  from  his  hands;  and  he  had 
never  regained  it.  After  the  marriage,  Obed,  greatly  to  his 
surprise,  found  that  his  affectionate  brother-in-law  did  not  re- 
spond so  readily  as  before  to  his  applications  for  money. 
Somehow,  though  always  anxious  to  serve  him,  he  was  just 
then  very  hard  up.  It  occurred,  therefore,  to  the  young 
scion,  that  it  would  be  a  dutiful  act  for  him  to  relieve  his 
aged  sire  from  the  cares  of  his  property,  and  assume  them 
himself.  So  he  consulted  with  his  mother  and  his  brother- 
in-law  ;  and  it  was  agreed  among  them  all  that  the  old  man 
had  best  deed  his  property  all  to  Obed,  and  the  latter  would 
engage  to  take  care  of  him  and  his  mother,  tenderly  and 
carefully,  to  the  end  of  their  days.  When  this  scheme  was 
first  mentioned  to  the  old  man,  he  strongly  disapproved  of  it, 
as  Obed  had  foreseen.  He  had  also  foreseen  that  he  would 
soon  give  way ;  and  in  this,  too,  he  was  not  disappointed. 
No  sooner,  however,  had  the  writings  been  drawn,  and  the 
property  duly  made  over  to  the  son,  than  he  mortgaged  it, 
for  less  than  its  value,  to  Seth,  receiving  back  all  the  due-bills 
he  had  ever  given  hirn,  and  eight  hundred  dollars  besides. 

As  the  summer  advanced,  Mrs.  Homer  admitted  to  some 
of  her  elderly  acquaintances  that  Hester  was  poorly,  and  she 
had  advised  Mr.  Mettlar  to  take  an  excursion  with  her  to  Bos- 
ton ;  and  he  had  promised  to  do  so,  and  she  was  going  to 
accompany  them. 

They  were  making  preparations  for  this  journey  at  the 
time  of  the  arrival  of  the  ill-omened  messenger  at  the 
Pivot  with  the  news  from  Walter.  It  was  observed  by  Mrs. 
Homer  that  her  daughter  was  getting  much  worse  soon  after 
that;  and  she  insisted  so  strongly  on  having  her  taken  to 
Boston  for  medical  advice,  that  Seth,  having  put  his  business 
in  order,  and  written  the  letter  to  the  Lancaster  postmaster, 
set  forth  for  the  city  of  perplexed  streets  and  civil  policemen. 

Here  the  most  famous  physicians  were  consulted  in  regard 
to  Hester's  health ;  and,  much  to  the  relief  of  her  mother, 
they  all  said  that  she  was  only  suffering  under  some  slight 
mental  depression,  and  needed  excitement,  exercise,  and  so- 
ciety to  render  her  as  well  as  ever.  As  the  town  of  Nahant 
was  famous  for  its  sea-air,  its  long  drives  along  the  hard 
beach,  its  fashion  and  folly,  it  was  decided  that  this  was  the 
place  for  them  to  go  in  order  to  recruit  the  invalid's  health. 


250  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

After  a  few  days'  delay,  therefore,  in  the  city,  the  party 
moved  to  Nahant ;  and  the  mother  and  daughter  were  quar- 
tered in  the  best  rooms  in  the  principal  hotel.  Having  seen 
them  thus  well  bestowed  and  provided  for,  Seth  returned  to 
Boston  to  attend  to  certain  affairs  of  business,  and,  as  a  rich 
man,  astonish  strangers,  and  cut  acquaintances  who  had 
known  him  as  a  mousing,  briefless  attorney. 

It  was  during  this  period  that  he  iirst  met  with  Joe  Pum- 
pagin  at  the  City  Hotel,  where  the  latter  astonished  and 
shocked  him  by  his  marvellous  stories,  and  his  dissertations  on 
Shakspeare,  at  the  same  time  that  he  consoled  him  with  flip; 
until  at  last,  by  his  strong  language,  he  drove  him  from  the 
house,  and  good  Deacon  Giles  was  obliged  to  volunteer  in 
vindication  of  his  character. 

A  few  days  after  the  departure  of  Seth  Mettlar,  his 
wife  and  mother-in-law,  for  Boston,  a  lady  past  middle  age, 
with  a  maid-servant,  alighted  from  the  stage  at  the  door  of 
the  new  hotel.  She  had  a  large  quantity  of  luggage,  and 
complained  of  being  so  unwell,  that  she  would  not  be  able  to 
pursue  her  journey  farther  for  some  days.  She  bespoke  the 
best  rooms  in  the  house ;  and  as  she  gave  no  intimation  of 
whom  she  was,  whence  she  came,  or  whither  she  was  going, 
curiosity  was  soon  all  on  tiptoe  to  discover  something  of 
these  secrets.  She  had  an  air  of  reserve  and  refinement; 
and  every  thing  she  possessed  showed  that  she  had  been  ac- 
customed to  the  very  highest  society.  The  maid  was 
quizzed  and  questioned  by  the  servants  of  the  hotel  about 
her  mistress;  but  she  never  knew  any  thing  of  her,  and  what 
she  did  know  was  none  of  their  business ;  and  so  they  were 
left  as  wise  as  before.  The  baggage  was  marked  Beresford  ; 
and  the  only  information  that  could  be  gathered  from  her 
conversation  was,  that  she  was  a  widow  travelling  for  her 
health ;  and  as  Montgomery  Village  was  beautifully  situated, 
and  was  reputed  healthy,  she  would  have  no  objections  to 
remaining  there  for  the  season  if  a  good  and  comfortable 
house  could  be  procured.  She  desired  a  carriage,  the  next 
day  after  her  arrival,  to  drive  about  the  village  j  and  insisted 
on  being  driven  up  by  the  Pivot,  and  to  the  old  house  on  the 
hill  beyond.  The  driver  reported  that  she  stopped  a  long 
time  here,  and  asked  him  a  "  heap  of  questions."  She  walked 
back  and  forth  from  the  house  to  the  spring  several  times ; 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  251 

but  her  chief  interest  seemed  to  centre  about  the  graves  of 
the  Gaults,  and  the  old  log-house  that  was  now  nothing  but 
a  pile  of  ruins.  "  What  is  this  old  pile  kept  here  so  long 
for?"  she  asked  of  the  driver. 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  replied  he,  "  old  Square  Gomery,  when  he 
had  the  place,  would  never  let  it  be  pulled  down,  though 
he  spent  a  heap  o'  money  in  keeping  the  place  in  order.  It 
was  here,  ma'am,  that  the  Gault  murder  took  place.  Of 
course  you  have  heard  of  the  Gault  murder  by  the  British 
and  Indians,  and  how  the  ghosts  used  to  be  about  the  house 
in  dark  nights?  " 

"What!  is  the  place  haunted?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  now,  ma'am  !  but  it  used  to  be  fifty  or  sixty 
year  ago ;  and  some  says  the  ghosts  have  been  seen  within  a 
few  years.     But  they  never  done  no  harm  to  nobody." 

"  What  were  the  ghosts  like  V  and  what  did  they  do  ?  " 

"A  sight  o'  things  !  Some  says  that  a  whole  tribe  of  In- 
dians is  seen  dancin' round  this  old  hovel.  Others  says  there 
is  a  sight  of  a  woman  with  her  throat  cut ;  and  then  agin 
some  says  a  little  girl  goes  about  in  her  night-gown,  scream- 
ing and  crying  for  her  ma,  that  the  Indians  has  butchered  : 
but  there's  so  many  stories,  there  is  no  tellin'  which  is  true." 

When  the  old  lady  returned  to  her  hotel,  she  told  the 
landlord  that  she  had  found  a  place  that  would  suit  her,  and 
inquired  who  owned  the  old  house  on  the  hill.  She  was 
told  it  was  the  property  of  Seth  Mettlar. 

"  It  is  not  occupied,  I  see :  how  is  that?  " 

The  landlord  informed  her  that  "it  had  once  belonged  to 
Squire  Gomery ;  and  the  house  was  occupied,  for  many  years 
after  his  mother  died,  by  old  Jabez  Dearborn  and  his  wife, 
who  just  took  care  of  the  house  and  buildings,  and  lived  like 
great  people,  though  they  had  nothing  in  the  world  that  didn't 
belong  to  Squire  .Gomery.  Every  thing  was  kept  in  good 
order  by  them,  until  the  squire  got  into  trouble  about  his 
title ;  and  then  Uncle  Jabe  took  so  much  interest  in  the  law- 
suit, and  fretted  so,  that  he  took  sick,  and  died  ;  and  then  the 
old  woman  took  sick  too,  and  she  died ;  and  then  the  house 
was  shut  up ;  and,  when  the  place  come  into  Mr.  Mettlar's 
hands,  he  could  neither  let  it,  or  sell  it  for  what  it  is  worth  : 
for  people  are  sort  o'  superstitious  about  that  place,  and  it  is 
vacant  yet  for  that  reason." 

"  It  is  for  rent,  then  ?  "  said  she. 


252  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  Yes  ;  and  it  is  well  furnished,  and  has  the  same  furniture 
as  was  in  it  at  the  time  that  old  Mr.  Gomery,  the  squire's 
father,  froze  to  death  one  night  on  the  hill,  in  sight  of  his 
house." 

"  Is  the  owner  at  home  now  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  has  gone  to  Boston  :  but  he  has  left  the  house  to 
my  care,  and  I  have  got  the  key.  He  offers  to  let  the  whole 
place,  furniture  and  all,  for  two  hundred  dollars  a  year;  and 
it  is  very  cheap  :  only  he  reserves  one-half  of  the  fruit-crop 
to  himself." 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  "I  will  take  it;  and  you  will  send 
and  have  the  house  opened  and  aired,  and  made  ready  for 
use  immediately." 

When  the  news  spread  through  the  town  that  the  stranger 
lady  was  to  occupy  the  old  Gomery  House,  the  curiosity  to 
know  more  about  her  was  greatly  intensified.  But  nothing 
could  they  learn,  with  all  their  prying  and  questioning;  and, 
two  days  after,  the  old  lady  and  her  maid  moved  into  the  house. 
As  servant  and  man-of-all-work,  she  hired  the  somewhat  anti- 
quated and  superannuated  Philemon  Gott,  who  had  served  at 
the  Eagle  during  all  the  long  years  that  Diller  kept  it,  and 
on  the  night  of  the  great  drunk  was  dubbed  "  the  kurnell " 
by  Joe  Pumpagin,  by  which  title  he  was  ever  afterwards 
known. 

Little  Diller,  who  had  now  no  business  of  his  own  to  at- 
tend to,  gave  all  his  time  to  bothering  his  neighbors  about 
theirs ;  and  he  was  especially  concerned  to  know  what  the 
advent  of  this  mysterious  lady  portended.  In  ordinary  cases 
of  doubt  and  perplexity,  he  had  been  accustomed  to  consult 
his  old  friend,  Squire  Gomery.  But,  the  last  time  he  had 
seen  Gomery,  he  looked  so  serious  and  sad,  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  ask  him  the  cause  of  his  sorrow.  Since  then,  he 
had  gone  away  to  New  York;  and  another  mystery  had  oc- 
curred, and  the  little  man  was  like  to  strangle  with  curiosity. 
A  few  days  after,  however,  hearing  that  the  squire  had  re- 
turned, he  could  neither  contain  nor  restrain  himself,  but 
posted  up  to  the  Pivot  to  get  the  squire's  opinion  in  regard 
to  the  strange  lady.  But  the  old  man  could  give  him  no  sat- 
isfaction. He  admitted  it  looked  a  little  queer,  the  manner 
in  which  she  had  come ;  but  she  doubtless  had  good  reasons 
of  her  own,  which,  if  they  knew,  they  would  not  longer  won- 
der.    Quite  chapfallen,  the  little  man  was  going  away,  when 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  253 

the  old  servant,  "the  kurnell,"  appeared,  and  handed  the 
quire  a  note.  He  opened  and  read  it,  and,  turning  to  his 
wife,  said,  "This  is  indeed  strange!  This  lady  we  were 
just  talking  about  has  sent  me  a  note,  saying  that  she  will 
be  glad  to  see  me  at  the  Perch  this  evening,  at  seven 
o'clock." 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it ! "  said  Diller,  jumping  up  in  ecstasy. 
"I  knew  it!  and  I  told  'em,  when  they  asked  me  what  it 
meant,  that  it  meant  justice  to  that  darned  old  rascal  and 
hypocrite,  Seth  Mettlar,  now,  and  hell-lire  afterwards  !  " 

"Oh,  hush!"  answered  the  squire.  "You  wish  so,  and 
therefore  believe  so ;  but  she  probably  wants  some  law  ad- 
vice. However,  we  shall  see ;  but  you  had  better  reserve 
your  opinions,  Mr.  Diller,  until  you  have  better  grounds  for 
them." 

Gomery's  word  was  law  with  Diller;  and,  when  he  re- 
turned to  the  village,  he  was  well-nigh  suffocated  with  the 
importance  of  his  secret.  But,  after  the  squire's  warning,  he 
could  say  nothing  more  than  indulge  in  the  general  observa- 
tion, that  "the  day  of  reckoning  for  rascals  was  near  at 
hand." 

The  interview  of  the  newly  arrived  lady  and  Squire  Gora- 
ery  disclosed  nothing  to  either  that  is  not  already  known  to 
the  reader.  She  declared  herself  to  be  the  sister  of  the  sin- 
gular person  known  in  that  neighborhood  as  Joe  Pumpagin, 
and  that  the  old  hovel  yet  standing  near  by  had  been  the 
house  of  her  birth.  She  explained,  too,  how  her  broth- 
er had  been  delayed  on  business -matters  of  importance; 
while  she  had  come  on  by  herself,  and  incognita,  that  she 
might  have  the  satisfaction  of  viewing,  unknown  and  un- 
watched,  the  spot  so  painfully  interesting  to  her.  Neither 
she  nor  her  brother  had,  at  the  time  they  parted,  any  knowl- 
edge of  the  disasters  that  had  fallen  on  the  house  of  Gomery; 
but,  since  her  arrival,  she  had  seen  that  changes  had  taken 
place,  through  the  grossest  fraud,  that  would  greatly  astonish 
and  incense  him. 

The  clouds  seemed  now  to  be  lifting  around  the  Pivot ; 
and  the  first  gleam  of  light  that  has  reached  it  for  a  long 
time  has  broken  through  the  gloom  that  has  so  long  envel- 
oped it.  It  was  observed  by  several,  who  met  the  old  squire 
the  next  day  after  Diller  had  given  out  his  incoherent  threat- 
enings,  that  his  step  was  more  elastic,  his  eye  more  bright, 
vol.  ii.  22 


254  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

and  his  whole  appearance  more  as  it  had  been  wont  to  be  in 
times  gone  by.  But  his  countenance,  though  more  excited, 
was  no  less  sad  than  before ;  for  there  was  one  sorrow  im- 
pending, from  which  his  soul  "  would  be  lifted  nevermore." 

It  was  three  days  after  the  interview  between  Gomery  and 
the  new  occupant  of  the  old  house,  when  the  people  of  the  vil- 
lage were  more  astonished  than  they  had  been  at  the  myste- 
rious manner  of  the  stranger  lady,  by  the  unexpected  arrival 
of  Joe  Pumpagin.  After  so  many  long  years,  and  when 
people  had  generally  settled  into  the  belief  that  he  would 
never  come,  he  had  returned  to  visit  the  scenes  of  his  former 
pranks  and  sportive  triumphs.  As  on  former  occasions,  he 
had  come  in  the  mail-stage ;  and,  as  it  drove  up  to  the  hotel 
(the  new  one,  called  the  "Montgomery  Exchange"),  a  mul- 
titude of  people  gathered  around  to  stare  at  the  passengers, 
and  see  who  might  alight.  It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon  in 
June ;  and,  of  course,  there  was  an  unusual  number  of  peo- 
ple in  the  village.  No  sooner  was  the  burly  form,  the  merry 
eye,  and  the  broken  nose,  of  Joe  seen  to  emerge  from  the 
stage,  than  the  whole  crowd  gave  a  shout  of  joy.  He  looked 
somewhat  older  and  stouter  than  when  he  left ;  but  otherwise 
his  appearance  was  little  changed.  His  hair  was  more  gray, 
and  his  once  fine  teeth  showed  signs  of  service ;  but  his 
motions  were  as  quick,  and  his  manner  as  hilarious,  as  thirty 
years  before.  The  word  passed  from  one  end  of  the  village 
to  the  other,  as  by  telegraph,  that  "  Old  Joe  had  got  back ; " 
and,  had  the  cry  been  that  the  Exchange  was  on  fire,  the 
rush  towards  it  could  not  have  been  more  sudden  and  gen- 
eral. In  the  annals  of  Montgomery,  he  was  an  historic  char- 
acter. Even  the  younger  folk,  that  had  come  into  the  world 
since  he  was  last  there,  had  been  told  of  him  a  thousand 
times,  —  of  his  jokes,  his  tricks,  his  marvellous  stories,  his 
good  nature,  and  his  funny  face  with  its  queer-looking  nose, 
and  his  merry  eyes.  He  shook  hands  all  around,  and  slapped 
those  on  the  bacli,  who  had  never  seen  him  before,  with  a 
familiarity  that  delighted  them.  He  inquired  particularly 
for  his  namesakes,  and  also  for  those  of  his  "  sister  Nancy, 
who  died  in  the  poorhouse." 

"You  can't  get  any  more  flip  now,"  said  little  Diller. 
"  You  see,  the  old  Eagle's  gone  ;  and  there's  been  the  very 
devil  to  pay  since  you  left.  Nothing  goes  right  since  the 
Eagle  shut  up.     Old  Square  Gomery's  all  fell  to  pieces,  with 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  255 

all  his  property;  and  he  and  the  old  woman  live  all  alone  up 
to  the  Pivot :  but  I  told  'em  that  darned  old  thief  that  stole 
all  from  him  would  catch  it  yet." 

"What!  Gomery  lost  his  property!"  said  Joe.  "What 
has  become  of  his  son  Walter,  then?" 

"  Why,"  answered  Diller,  "  when  the  old  man  lost  all,  he 
went  off  to  the  west'ard,  and  hadn't  been  hearn  on  for  a  year 
or  more,  till,  t'other  day,  there  come  a  report  in  the  papers 
that  he  had  been  caught  down  to  Georgia  getting  away 
their  niggers ;  and  they've  got  him  in  prison,  and  folks  think 
he'll  be  hung." 

"What!  Walter  Gomery  not  here! — in  prison  down 
South!"  said  Joe,  as  his  countenance  changed,  and  assumed 
an  air  of  sorrow  altogether  unusual  with  him.  "I  have 
come  back  to  see  him,  above  all  others ;  for  he  thought  about 
poor  old  Joe  when  the  rest  of  you  cared  nothing  for  him. 
And  he  is  gone,  and  I  am  not  to  see  him  after  all !  Why  did 
I  come  back?"  But  the  impression  made  by  the  informa- 
tion contained  in  Diller's  words  appeared  to  pass  off,  and  he 
was  directly  himself  again.  He  was  a  man  of  self-control, 
and  soon  rallied  his  fund  of  humor  and  wit ;  and,  entering 
the  bar-room,  he  bargained  with  the  landlord  to  give  a  free 
run  at  the  bar  that  evening,  at  his  expense,  for  the  sum  of 
ten  dollars.  By  sunset,  he  was  at  the  height  of  his  popular- 
ity; and  several  were  so  eager  to  testify  their  regard  for 
him,  that  they  offered  to  fight  any  one  who  dared  say  a 
word  against  him.  As  nobody  was  disposed  to  do  that,  they 
found  other  occasions  for  fighting ;  and,  before  midnight,  a 
goodly  number  of  broken  heads  attested  the  joy  of  the  peo- 
ple at  seeing  their  old  friend  returned  once  more.  But  Joe 
did  not  remain  long  to  witness  these  friendly  demonstrations. 
As  soon  as  the  spigot  was  drawn,  and  the  rum  was  running 
freely,  he  quietly  withdrew  from  the  crowd ;  and,  with  the 
first  dusk  of  evening,  left  the  hotel,  and  made  his  way  to  the 
Pivot. 


256  G0MEEY    OF    MONTGOMEET  : 


CHAPTER    XIX. 


"  If  the  wickedness  of  these  men  have  defeated  the  law,  and  outrun  native 
punishment,  though  they  can  outstrip  men,  they  have  no  wings  to  fly  from 
God."— HenkyV. 

The  news  of  Joe's  arrival  in  town  reached  the  Pivot  before 
him;  and  the  squire,  not  doubting  that  he  would  soon  be 
there,  sent  his  carriage  and  servant  to  the  old  place  to  bring 
the  Lady  Beresford  to  his  house.  She  arrived  before  Joe; 
and,  when  the  latter  appeared,  the  squire  gave  orders  that  he 
should,  on  no  account,  be  interrupted  that  evening. 

The  interview  between  these  four  persons  —  Gomery  and 
wife,  Lady  Beresford  and  Joe  —  was  long  and  painful.  It 
was  past  midnight  ere  they  separated;  and  then  they  felt 
that  they  had  as  much  to  say  as  when  they  began.  Joe  gave 
a  long  account  of  his  experience  since  he  last  left  Mont- 
gomery; and  the  squire,  in  his  turn,  narrated  the  troubles 
that  had  fallen  upon  him  and  his  since  that  time;  —  all  of 
which  could  not  have  happened,  had  Joe  been  there.  But  all 
this  was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  greater  sorrow  that 
was  upon  him.  He  gave  a  full  account  of  Walter's  course 
after  he  found  that  his  father  was  bankrupt ;  and  how  he  had 
got  into  his  present  position,  from  which  he  would  probably 
never  escape  alive ;  and,  if  he  did,  what  other  changes  had 
taken  place,  that  must  ever  render  desolate  the  life  of  one 
of  his  sensitive  and  earnest  nature. 

Bufr,  as  Joe  wisely  remarked,  it  was  now  "  no  time  for  sen- 
timent. We  must  at  once  proceed  to  take  such  steps  as  the 
exigencies  require  to  secure  the  ends  of  justice,  and  recover 
our  own.  We  must  lose  no  time;  for  if  I  were  to  die 
to-night,  though  you  would  be  at  liberty  to  use  all  that  infor- 
mation, which,  before,  you  were  precluded  from  taking  advan- 
tage of,  yet  you  would  be  obliged,  perhaps,  to  go  through 
another  long  course  of  litigation.  That  muling  hypocrite 
has  got  possession ;  and  I  am  the  only  person  who  can  kick 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  257 

him  out  without  ceremony."  It  was  decided,  however,  to 
await  Seth's  return  to  Montgomery,  before  taking  any  steps 
of  which  the  public  could  have  any  knowledge ;  and  an 
accident  that  happened  the  next  day  to  the  dutiful  Obededom 
hastened  that  event.  Returning  home  late  in  the  evening, 
after  having  taken  several  toddies,  he  was  thrown  out  of  his 
wagon,  and  stunned  and  bruised  so,  that  he  was  carried  home 
insensible. 

Joe  Pumpagin  was  in  the  bar-room  of  the  Exchange, 
telling  marvellous  tales,  quoting  Shakspeare,  and  teaching 
the  new  landlord  how  to  make  flip,  when  the  word  was 
brought  in  that  Obed  Homer  had  been  thrown  from  his 
wagon,  and  killed.  A  second  report  soon  followed,  that  he 
was  not  dead,  but  badly  hurt,  and  perhaps  would  die. 

"His  friends  should  be  notified,"  said  Joe.  "I  understand 
that  that  pretty  sister  of  his  has  married  one  of  the  richest 
men  about  here,  and  they  are  off  at  some  watering-place. 
The  mail  will  leave  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  and  some- 
body ought  to  write  to  them  about  this  sad  calamity.  I  would 
do  it  myself  if  I  knew  how,  and  was  only  acquainted  with 
the  man  —  what's  his  name?  — that  married  Hester." 

"  Mettlar,"  answered  the  landlord.  "  I  think  I  will  write 
to  him  myself;  for  he  has  left  a  good  many  things  in  my 
care." 

The  landlord  went  to  his  desk  behind  the  bar,  and  quickly 
wrote  an  account  of  the  accident  that  had  befallen  Obed, 
setting  forth  that  he  was  very  dangerously  wounded.  This 
letter  Joe  saw  despatched  to  the  post-office,  and  then  ambig- 
uously remarked, that,  "if  he  were  not  a  graceless  unbeliever, 
he  should  think  this  accident  was  a  special  providence  got 
up  for  his  benefit." 

The  landlord's  letter  was  received  by  Seth  while  at  Nahant ; 
and  no  sooner  did  his  mother-in-law  learn  the  contents  of  it 
than  she  insisted  on  an  immediate  return  home.  Seth  acqui- 
esced ;  and  her  daughter  neither  objected  nor  approved,  for 
she  was  passive  in  every  thing.  They  returned  to  Boston  the 
next  day,  and,  the  following  morning,  set  out  for  home.  But, 
just  as  they  were  leaving  their  hotel,  another  letter  was  put  into 
Seth's  hands,  stating  that  Obed  was  not  badly  hurt,  after  all. 
He  had  only  been  badly  bruised  and  stunned,  and  was  able 
to  drive  to  the  village  the  second  day  after  the  accident. 

Seth  arrived  home  with  his  family ;  and  the  next  day  he 

22* 


258  GOMEEY   OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

received  the  congratulations  of  his  numerous  friends.  Many 
of  the  friends  and  former  schoolmates  of  Hester  also  called 
on  the  evening  of  their  return  and  the  following  day,  hoping 
to  find  her  as  she  used  to  be.  But  there  was  no  change  in 
her  for  the  better.  She  had  grown  paler,  and  even  more 
reserved  and  silent,  than  when  she  left. 

The  high-sheriff  of  the  county,  of  which  Chesterville  was 
the  shire-town,  lived  at  Tivernet;  and,  as  soon  as  Squire 
Gomery  learned  that  Seth  Mettlar  had  returned,  he  sent  a 
messenger  with  a  note,  requesting  him  to  come  immediately 
to  Montgomery,  as  he  had  important  business  for  him  to 
transact.  The  sheriff  received  the  note  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning;  and, at  twelve  meridian, he  drove  up  to  the  door  of 
the  Pivot.  He  was  curious  to  know  what  the  important 
business  was  that  required  such  prompt  attention. 

"  We  will  discuss  that  after  dinner,"  said  the  squire.  "  In 
the  mean  while,  let  me  introduce  you  to  my  friend  Mr. 
Pumpagin." 

"I  know  Mr.  Pumpagin,"  said  the  sheriff,  now  stepping 
forward  to  shake  hands  with  him,  though  he  had  not  thought 
of  noticing  him  before. 

"He  has  been  a  great  traveller,  and  can  tell  wonderful 
stories  about  what  he  has  seen  in  strange  countries." 

"I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  his  wonderful  stories," 
replied  the  sheriff. 

"  To-day  you  may  hear  one,  with  your  own  ears,  more 
strange  and  wonderful  than  any  you  have  ever  heard  of;  and 
it  is  not  more  strange  than  true." 

" '  'Tis  strange,  'tis  passing  strange ;  'tis  pitiful,  'tis  wondrous 
pitiful ! ' "  said  Joe. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  melancholy.  I  have  been  told  you 
were  not  only  always  joking  and  laughing  yourself,  but  that 
you  make  everybody  else  laugh." 

"Slander,  sir;  slander!  I  am  a  man  o'erpressed  with  mel- 
ancholy; but,  as  Jaques  says,  —  Shakspeare,  you  know, — 
'  it  is  a  melancholy  of  mine  own,  compounded  of  many  simples 
extracted  from  many  objects;  and,  indeed,  the  sundry  con- 
templation of  my  travels,  in  which  my  often  rumination 
wraps  me,  is  a  most  humorous  sadness.' " 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Mrs.  Gomery ;  and,  immediately  afterwards,  dinner  was  an- 
nounced ;  and  great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  man  of 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  259 

» 

executions  when  he  saw  Joe  Pumpagin  offer  his  arm  to  the 
lady  of  the  house,  and  escort  her  to  the  dinner-table. 

After  the  dinner  was  finished,  the  party  adjourned  to  the 
parlor;  and  then  the  squire  said  to  the  sheriff,  "I  will  now 
tell  you  what  I  wish  you  to  do.  You  will  arrest  Seth  Mettlar, 
and  put  him  into  the  Chesterville  jail ! " 

"Arrest  Seth  Mettlar?" 

"  Even  so.  You  are  surprised ;  but  I  can  soon  explain  the 
matter  sufficiently,  so  that  you  need  not  hesitate.  You  are 
aware  of  the  way  in  which  he  came  by  the  property  now  in 
his  possession." 

"  I  ought  to  know  something  of  it,  as  I  was  sheriff  at  the 
time,  and  in  attendance  at  every  trial." 

"Then  you  remember  how  he  found  a  deed  of  the  same 
property  that  was  bought  by  my  father  from  Col.  Scranton, 
in  favor  of  Thomas  Gault,  and  dated  anterior  to  that  of  my 
father ;  that  he  then  pretended  to  have  got  a  deed  from  the 
sole  heir  of  the  said  Thomas  Gault." 

"Of  course,  I  remember  all  about  that:  how  that  he  found 
this  heir  in  the  last  stages  of  sickness  and  suffering ;  and,  as 
he  had  no  money  to  reward  him  for  his  kindness,  he  gave 
him  a  deed  of  his  interest  in  the  property  left  by  his  father." 

"  You  remember,  too,  how  I  said  at  the  time,  that  I  knew,  of 
my  own  knowledge,  that  that  deed  was  a  fraud  and  a 
forgery?" 

"Yes;  and  Joel  Slocum  took  your  word  against  all  the 
evidence  on  the  other  side,  and  the  judge's  instructions 
besides,  and  has  been  laughed  at  ever  since." 

"Well,  it  will  be  his  turn  to  laugh  now;  for  Randolph 
Gault,  the  son  and  heir  of  Thomas  Gault,  is  alive ! " 

"He  is,  and  can  be  brought  as  a  witness!  'There  are 
more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,'  Mr.  Sheriff,"  said  Joe, 
"'than  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy.'" 

"  This  man,"  continued  the  squire,  "  who  is  known  as  Joe 
Pumpagin,  is  the  man  Randolph  Gault,  as  I  have  known  for 
a  long  time." 

"Did  you  know  it  at  the  time  of  the  trial?  " 

"  I  did.  But  I  could  not  avail  myself  of  that  knowledge. 
I  knew  not  where  he  was ;  and,  even  had  I  asserted  it  then,  it 
might  have  availed  little ;  for  you  will  remember,  in  his  de- 
scriptions of  the  sick  man,  who,  he  pretended,  had  made  the 
deed,  there  was  a  similarity  to  our  friend  here." 


260  GOMEEY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

"  Together  we  should  have  made  a  pair  of  pretty  Dro- 
mios,"  said  Joe. 

"  Therefore  I  had  only  to  endure  the  mortification  of  see- 
ing my  property  stolen  from  me ;  my  youngest  son  driven  to 
seek  his  own  fortune,  and,  I  fear,  forever  lost  to  me ;  and  the 
sweet  young  girl,  to  whom  he  had  been  engaged  from  child- 
hood, forced  to  the  embraces  of  the  dark-hearted  villain  that 
had  robbed  me.  But  now  the  day  of  reckoning  has  come, 
and  your  services  are  in  requisition.  I  have  already  made 
out  the  necessary  papers.  Here  is  my  accusation  and  affi- 
davit, that,  of  my  own  knowledge,  Seth  Mettlar  is  guilty  of 
forgery,  perjury,  and  subornation  of  perjury,  Here,  too,  is 
the  sworn  statement  of  Randolph  Gault,  known  generally  as 
Joe  Pumpagin,  that  he  is  the  only  son  of  David  Gault,  the 
first  settler  on  Mount  Gault,  —  as  it  was  formerly  called,  — 
and  the  same  who  was  murdered  by  the  Indians  and  British 
in  the  time  of  the  Revolutionary  War." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do  with  him ?  I  can't  put  him  in  jail 
without  authority  of  some  kind." 

"  Of  course  not.  Ambrose  Addison  received  his  commis- 
sion as  a  justice  of  the  peace  only  last  week.  I  have  pre- 
pared all  the  papers  myself.  You  will  take  them  to  him,  or 
rather  I  will  go  with  you  to  his  house,  and  will  make  my 
complaint ;  and  he  will  sign  the  warrant  that  I  have  prepared, 
without  hesitation  ;  for,  like  Joel  Slocum,  he  would  take  my. 
word  in  preference  to  all  the  sworn  witnesses  that  could  be 
brought  to  contradict  me." 

The  squire  next  gave  orders  for  his  horse  to  be  harnessed ; 
and  taking  Joe  into  his  carriage,  the  sheriff  following  after, 
they  rode  towards  the  village,  and  stopped  at  the  door  of 
Squire  Addison.  They  found  his  honor  hard  at  work  making 
shoes,  having  a  volume  of  Blackstone's  Commentaries  open 
on  a  chair  beside  him,  reading  and  "  pegging  away "  alter- 
nately. But  awl,  wax,  last,  and  apron  were  at  once  dropped ; 
and  the  son  of  Crispin,  and  disciple  of  Justinian,  stood  ready 
to  serve  his  customers,  whether  it  was  law  and  justice,  or 
something  in  the  shoe  line,  they  had  come  after.  They  were 
shown  into  the  office  of  the  learned  justice,  which  was  also 
the  sitting-room  for  his  family ;  and  which,  if  plainly  fur- 
nished, showed,  nevertheless,  a  goodly  sized  library  of  well- 
selected,  standard  books. 

Gomery  at  once  proceeded  to  business,  and  said,  "lam  lia- 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  261 

ble  to  have  more  serious  trouble  with  this  man  Mettlar ;  and 
I  want  you  to  issue  a  warrant,  and  the  sheriff  will  at  once 
arrest  him." 

"  I  will  accommodate  you  with  great  pleasure,  Squire  Gom- 
ery  ;  but  what  have  I  to  go  upon  ?  " 

"  Here  is  my  own  affidavit,  that  I  am  ready  to  make  oath 
to,  accusing  him  of  high  crimes." 

The  justice  took  the  affidavit,  read  it  through,  and  then 
said,  "  You  make  oath  to  this  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

The  affidavit  was  then  duly  sworn  to ;  and  the  justice  signed 
the  warrant  that  Gomery  had  already  prepared,  commanding 
the  sheriff  of  the  county,  or  any  of  his  deputies,  to  arrest  the 
body  of  Seth  Mettlar,  and  bring  him  before  the  said  justice. 
The  sheriff  took  the  paper,  and  left ;  and  Gomery  and  Joe 
rode  over  to  the  old  office  of  the  former,  which  he  had  not 
visited  for  months  before. 

Sheriff  White  was  an  obliging  man,  and  avoided  giving 
offence  as  much  as  possible.  He  drove  up  to  Seth's  house 
just  at  the  moment  he  was  dismissing  two  unfortunate  debt- 
ors with  the  comforting  assurance  that  he  must  foreclose  the 
mortgages  he  held  unless  the  money  due  was  paid  imme- 
diately. When  the  Gomery  Estate  had  first  come  into  his 
possession,  he  had  thought  it  good  policy  to  show  considera- 
ble liberality  and  public  spirit  until  he  got  quietly  and  firmly 
established  in  the  enjoyment  of  it.  But  now  he  was  secure 
in  all,  and  felt  that  he  could  defy  public  opinion,  the  cloven 
foot  showed  itself;  and  he  was  as  exacting  and  hard  with 
debtors  as  ever  had  been  that  litigious  nuisance,  Silas  Barton. 
As  he  found  he  could  not  make  people  respect  him,  he  was 
determined  they  should  fear  him,  —  that  he  would,  in 'some 
way,  be  a  power  among  them. 

The  two  unfortunate  debtors  were  just  being  politely 
bowed  out  of  the  house  by  the  severely  civil  Seth,  when 
Sheriff  White  drove  up  to  the  door.  Without  alighting 
from  his  carriage,  he  asked  Seth  if  he  would  not  like  to  take 
a  short  ride. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  inquired  Seth. 

"  Down  to  the  village." 

"  It  looks  rather  suspicious  riding  with  you ;  so  I  guess  I 
won5t  go,"  replied  he  in  a  manner  which  he  intended  for 
facetious. 


262  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY  I 

"  There  is  a  little  business  to  be  done  down  to  Squire  Ad- 
dison's office,  and  they  say  they  want  you." 

"  Well,  you  tell  them  I  can't  go  unless  they  send  a  sum- 
mons ;  and  then  I  shall  take  my  own  time.  I  want  people 
here  to  understand  that  Seth  Mettlar  is  to  be  respected  ;  and 
those  who  think  to  trifle  with  him  will  get  the  worst  of  it. 
They  might  have  learnt  that,  I  should  think,  from  the  fate  of 
old  Gomery." 

"  Then  you  won't  go  without  a  summons  ?  " 

"No,  I  won't!" 

;<  Suppose  I  have  a  warrant." 

"  A  warrant  I  —  a  warrant  for  me  ! " 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  warrant  for  you,"  said  he,  drawing  it  from  his 
pocket ;  "  and  here  it  is.  I  am  commanded  to  arrest  you  im- 
mediately, and  take  you  before  Squire  Addison." 

"  Why  !  this  is  old  Gomery's  work ! " 

"  I  dare  say  it  is ;  for  the  warrant  recites  that  it  is  made 
on  his  affidavit." 

Seth,  who  but  just  before  was  bold  and  defiant,  now  turned 
pale  as  a  sheet ;  and  a  cold  perspiration  broke  out  upon  him. 
But  he  still  tried  to  keep  on  his  #ir  of  bravado,  and  asked, 
with  a  forced  sternness,  what  he  was  charged  with. 

"  Take  it,  and  read  for  yourself,"  said  the  sheriff,  tossing 
the  warrant  towards  him.  With  a  hand  whose  tremor  he 
could  not  disguise,  he  picked  up  the  paper,  and  read  that  he 
was  charged  with  forgery,  perjury,  and  subornation  of  per- 
jury. "  Ha !  the  old  man  thinks  he's  found  a  mare's  nest ; 
but  he  shall  pay  dearly  for  this  !  I'll  teach  him  that  Mont- 
gomery is  not  large  enough  for  Seth  Mettlar  and  Freeborn 
Gomery.  Yes,  if  it  takes  half  I've  got  in  the  world,  I'll 
drive  "him  from  the  place." 

"  But  that  is  not  my  business.  I  am  ordered  to  arrest  you ; 
and,  if  you  decline  to  ride  with  me,  you  can  walk,  or  go  in 
your  own  carriage." 

"  I  will  not  ride  with  you,"  said  he,  calling  to  his  servant 
to  harness  his  horse  to  the  light  wagon.  At  this  stage  of 
proceedings,  the  two  debtors  moved  off  homewards,  telling 
everybody  they  met  and  saw  that  Seth  Mettlar  had  been 
arrested  by  Sheriff  White,  and  was  going  down  to  Squire 
Addison's  to  have  his  trial. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Seth's  smart,  flashy,  light  wag- 
on, drawn  by  his  swift-going  little  black  mare,  was  seen  to 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  263 

move  down  the  road,  closely  followed  by  the  heavy  nag  of 
Sheriff  White.  The  news  rapidly  spread  that  Seth  Mettlar 
had  been  arrested ;  and  great  was  the  rush  toward  the  house 
of  the  new  justice  to  learn  what  it  was  all  about. 

Before  the  justice  took  his  seat,  and  announced  the  court 
to  be  open,  the  room  or  office  was  full  of  people ;  and,  in  half 
an  hour  more,  there  was  scarce  a  man  or  boy  in  the  village, 
who  was  able  to  walk,  ride,  or  hobble,  who  was  not  in  the 
house,  if  he  could  crowd  in,  or,  if  not,  as  near  to  the  door  as 
he  could  get.  Various  were  the  speculations  among  the 
multitude.  Little  Diller  said  that  he  "always  knowed  it 
would  be  so ;  that  that  darned  thing  would  be  come  up  with 
after  all,  and  he  would  find  it  as  hard  to  cheat  the  Devil  as 
Tom  Walker  had  found  it  before  him." 

The  new  justice,  though  an  intelligent  man,  and  better 
read  in  the  law  than  many  attorneys,  was  unfamiliar  with 
forms  ;  and  he  therefore  allowed  Gomery  to  indicate  the 
course  of  proceedings.  But,  before  the  complaint  was  read, 
he  asked  Mettlar  if  he  had  employed  counsel.  "No,"  replied 
that  indignant  and  persecuted  citizen :  "  I  scorn  to  employ 
counsel  to  defend  me  from  a  charge  so  absurd,  and  so  redo- 
lent of  impotent  malice,  as  this."  The  bold  and  defiant  tone 
in  which  this  was  uttered  called  forth  symptoms  of  applause 
from  a  few ;  but  the  sharp  voice  of  little  Diller,  when  he  piped 
out,  "  Ay,  ay,  you  directors  of  the  Exchange,  you  can  shout 
now ;  and  you  church  folks,  who  want  to  turn  out  Parson 
Skeelmanfor  rebuking  sinners  as  well  as  sin,  you  will  find 
the  Devil  is  hard  after  you,  and  old  Mettlar  is  his  chief  dep- 
uty," —  these  words  were  the  key-note  of  the  public  senti- 
ment. 

The  complaint  was  first  read,  and  then  the  affidavit  on 
which  the  arrest  was  made.  The  justice  turned  to  Seth,  and 
asked  him  what  he  had  to  say  against  them.  "  I  say,"  said 
he,  "  the  complaint  is  false  from  beginning  to  end.  The  affi- 
davit is  an  act  of  perjury;  and,  if  your  honor  gives  the  least 
heed  to  either  of  them,  you  do  so  at  your  peril." 

"  Doubtless  he  will  take  all  the  responsibility  and  risks," 
said  Gomery,  rising.  "  And  now,  with  the  permission  of  the 
court,  I  propose,  more  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  people  whom 
I  see  here  than  for  the  purpose  of  satisfying  the  court,  to 
submit  some  extended  remarks ;  and,  the  better  that  I  may  be 
heard,  I  shall  take  my  position  near  the  window,  which  I  re- 


264  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

quest  may  be  raised,  so  that  as  many  as  possible  may  catch 
my  words." 

The  window  was  raised  as  requested  ;  and  Gomery  of  Mont- 
gomery, for  the  last  time  in  his  life,  proceeded  to  address  the 
people,  and  incidentally  the  court.  By  his  side  sat  Joe  Pum- 
pagin,  who,  strange  to  say,  forbore  from  making  a  joke  or 
quoting  Shakspeare. 

In  a  loud,  clear  voice,  the  aged  advocate  then  began  to 
give  a  history  of  the  events  that  led  to  his  being  before  them 
at  that  time.  He  commenced  with  a  picture  of  Mount  Gault 
when  David  Gault  was  the  only  settler  within  many  miles. 
He  described  the  dangers  and  perils  of  the  .pioneer  life ;  and 
told  the  story  of  the  bear ;  the  flight  of  the  children ;  the  fall ; 
the  broken  nose,  and  the  journey  to  a  distant  town  to  find  a 
doctor  who  could  mend  it;  the  detainment  of  the  boy; 
the  massacre  of  his  parents ;  the  kidnapping  of  his  sister;  the 
ghostly  apparitions;  and  the  evil  name  that  fell  upon  the 
place,  ancl  kept  off  settlers  for  years.  Then  he  told  the  story 
of  his  own  father's  fortunes  and  misfortunes ;  how  that,  when 
all  trace  of  the  Gaults  was  lost,  he  had  bought  the  same  tract 
of  land  that  had  once  belonged  to  the  murdered  man.  Then 
he  gave  a  full  and  succinct  history  of  the  strange  career  of 
the  son  of  the  murdered  couple ;  how,  when  he  grew  to 
man's  estate,  he  was  haunted  with  the  thought  that  he  was 
to  be  an  instrument,  in  the  hands  of  Providence,  of  justice ; 
how  he  had  sailed  the  seas,  and  travelled  in  unknown  climes, 
but  was  ever  beset  with  the  idea  that  he  was  flying  from  duty ; 
and  how,  after  a  three-years'  voyage,  he  resolved  to  return 
to  his  native  place,  and,  without  discovering  himself,  learn 
all  the  traditions  that  could  be  ascertained  about  his 
parents'  murder  and  their  murderers.  He  had  come  among 
them  poor  and  unknown,  and  had  passed  by  the  name  of 
Joe  Pumpagin.  He  had  learned  something  of  the  instigator 
of  the  murder  of  his  father  and  mother,  anti  with  that  in- 
formation left  as  suddenly  and  mysteriously  as  he  arrived. 
He  had  seen,  after  years  of  pursuit,  the  guilty  sinner,  who 
ever  carried  before  him  the  apparition  of  Gault's  Hill,  —  the 
lovely  woman  with  her  throat  cut,  and  her  angelic  eyes  yet 
beaming  with  a  love  and  spirit  not  of  earth ;  the  rattle  of 
musketry;  the  blazing  fire;  and  the  child's  cry,  first  sharp,  and 
then  diminishing,  till  it  was  no  longer  to  be  heard.  He  had 
seen  this  wretch,  who  attempted  to  defy  God,  to  brave  the 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  265 

world,  and  go  down  to  his  grave  honored  and  respected, 
endure  a  life  of  prolonged  misery,  till  finally,  in  disgrace, 
exposure,  and  shame,  he  at  last,  when  human  nature  could 
endure  no  more,  shrunk  in  cowardice  and  shame  from  this 
world  to  the  next.  The  sister  that  had  been  carried  into 
captivity  had  also  been  an  object  of  his  search ;  and  it  was 
enough  for  him  then  to  say  that  she  was  no  other  than  the 
mysterious  lady  who  had  recently  returned  to  the  spot  where 
she  was  born,  and  now  occupied  the  house  that  had  been 
built  by  his  honored  father.  At  last,  when  time  had  worked 
out  his  revenges,  the  son,  now  an  old  man,  older  than  the 
speaker  by  some  years,  had  returned  to  spend  the  balance 
of  his  days  near  the  spot  where  he  had  first  seen  the  light. 
"  But  how  changed,"  he  continued,  "  was  every  thing !  During 
the  long  years  of  his  later  absence,  the  thief  and  forger  had 
done  his  work.  His  story  of  a  deed,  left  him  as  a  testament 
and  legacy  of  gratitude  by  the  heir  to  whom  he  had  shown 
kindness,  is  familiar  to  all.  At  the  time,  I  knew  it  was  fic- 
tion and  fraud,  but  was  debarred  from  making  use  of  the 
knowledge  in  my  possession ;  and  so  I  have  waited  for  the 
Lord  in  his  own  good  time  to  work  out  his  salvation.  I  now 
demand  that  the  prisoner,  Seth  Mettlar,  be  committed  to 
prison,  and  held  for  trial  till  the  grand  jury  shall  indict  him, 
and  that  no  bail  be  taken." 

During  these  remarks,  which  entered  into  the  detail  of 
many  things  which — the  reader  being  already  advised  —  it 
has  not  been  necessary  to  repeat,  there  was  in  the  minds  of  all 
present  an  intensity  of  interest  that  was  painful  and  Oppres- 
sive in  its  stillness.  People  listened  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
without  changing  their  position.  It  was  dark  long  before  he 
concluded;  and  teams  that  had  been  left  standing  in  the 
fields  while  the  farmer  or  his  boys  or  hired  men  should  run 
to  the  road,  and  learn  what  was  meant  by  all  the  bustle  and 
excitement,  were  still  standing  in  the  yoke,  and  perhaps 
bearing  the  heavy  cart's  tongue  on  their  necks.  The  cows 
were  unmilked  till  long  past  their  hour;  and  women  and 
children  gathered  round  the  multitude  of  men  who  were 
pressing  near  to  catch  the  words  of  Gomery  of  Montgomery. 
It  was  known  that  Seth  Mettlar  had  been  arrested,  and  great 
was  the  curiosity  to  learn  the  reason  for  it. 

As  soon  as  Gomery  ceased  speaking,  the  people  who  had 
been  listening  so  intently  changed  their  positions ;  and  the 
vol.  n.  23 


266  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

word  soon  extended  back  to  those  who  were  unable  to  hear, 
that  Seth  Mettlar  had  been  proved  to  be  a  forger  and  a  per- 
jurer, that  Joe  Pumpagin  was  the  real  Randolph  Gault,  and 
that  Gomery  would  have  his  own  again. 

Seth  Mettlar  sat  unmoved,  supported  by  his  faithful  and 
affectionate  brother-in-law,  Obededom  Homer,  during  the 
whole  time  that  Gomery  was  speaking.  The  latter  attempted, 
on  several  occasions,  to  express  incredulity  and  contempt  by  a 
scornful  laugh  and  shrug,  as  he  cast  his  eyes  about  among  his 
familiar  acquaintances ;  but  all  were  too  deeply  absorbed  in 
what  the  speaker  was  saying  to  return  any  thing  but  a  silen- 
cing scowl.  Seth  hardly  raised  his  eyes  during  the  whole  time ; 
but  the  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead,  and  even  dripped 
from  his  greasy  gray  hair.  At  the  conclusion  of  Gomery's  ad- 
dress, the  justice  asked  Seth  what  he  had  to  say.  His  reply 
was  given  in  an  undertone,  and  without  rising  from  his  seat. 
He  said  "he  did  not  suppose  it  was  necessary  for  a  man  of  his 
position  and  reputation,  and  high  religious  character,  to  deny 
so  absurd  a  charge  as  this  which  had  been  brought  against  him. 
It  was  evidently  an  attempt  of  Gomery,  who  had  long  been 
known  as  his  enemy,  and  whom  a  jury  of  his  countrymen  had 
convicted  of  libel  on  his  character,  assisted  by  that  low  buf- 
foon, Joe  Pumpagin,  to  ruin  his  character  and  standing,  and  rob 
him  of  his  property.  As  his  honor  would  doubtless  take  the 
same  view  of  the  case,  and  dismiss  it  with  the  contempt  it 
deserved,  he  should  not  give  it  dignity  nor  importance  by 
saying  any  thing  more." 

But  the  justice  did  not  take  the  same  view  of  the  case : 
on  the  contrary,  he  ordered  him  to  be  committed  to  the 
county  jail  until  the  next  session  of  the  county  court. 

When  this  result  was  known,  people  scattered  about  in 
small  knots,  talking  over  in  an  undertone  the  strange  turn  of 
fortune.  The  general  feeling  among  them  was  one  of  shame. 
They  felt  that  they  had  not  stood  by  Gomery  through  his 
misfortunes  as  they  ought  to  have  done,  and  had  shown  a 
deference  to  Seth  Mettlar  for  no  other  reason  than  that  he 
had  been  successful  in  robbing  Freeborn  Gomery.  They 
were  humiliated  that  they  had  so  readily  bowed  before  the 
golden  calf.  In  a  short  time,  they  all  silently  withdrew,  and 
went  to  their  several  homes.  The  sheriff  told  Seth  that  he 
should  be  happy  of  his  company  that  night  as  fa%as  Chester- 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  267 

ville ;  and  the  latter,  after  giving  some  directions  to  his  friend 
Obed,  sullenly  entered  the  carriage  of  the  sheriff,  and  was 
driven  rapidly  away. 

Thomas  Homer,  on  the  day  of  these  adventures,  had  been 
at  work  in  a  field  half  a  mile  back  from  the  road,  and  knew 
nothing  of  what  was  going  on  till  he  returned  home  at  the 
dusk  of  evening.  He  was  met  at  the  dobr  by  his  wife  in  a 
great  state  of  excitement,  who  informed  him  that  the  sheriff 
had  been  up  and  arrested  Seth,.  and  there  was  a  great  crowd 
down  at  the  village ;  and  the  Widow  Howlet  had  just  gone  by, 
and  said  that  Seth  had  been  robbing  and  stealing ;  and  old 
Square  Gomery  was  making  a  great  speech  against  him. 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  old  man  coolly :  "  then  it  has  come  at  last, 
has  it?" 

"What  has  come?" 

"  Justice.  Of  course,  this  must  be  the  end  of  Seth's  doings. 
The  Devil  is  not  to  be  cheated  so  easily." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Homer!  will  you  turn  against  your  own  flesh 
and  blood  ?  What  is  to  become  of  Hester,  I  would  like  to 
know,  if  this  is  true  ?  And  then  poor  Obed :  he  won't  have  a 
friend  in  the  world  !  When  I  heard  the  news,  I  run  up  to  see 
Hester ;  and  when  I  told  her  that  them  wicked  Gomerys  were 
trying  to  ruin  her  husband,  and  make  her  a  beggar,  she 
laughed  in  my  face." 

"  Did  she  laugh  ?  "  said  he,  sitting  down  on  the  door-sill. 
"  I  am  glad  of  that ;  for  I  have  never  seen  her  laugh  since 
she  was  married." 

"  Yes,  she  did  laugh  ;  and  then  she  said  just  as  you  did,  that 
she  knew  it  would  come  to  that,  and  that  the  ways  of  God 
were  just.  And  then  she  talked  strangely,  as  she  does  talk 
sometimes,  and  said,  'And  then  they  will  lay  me  in  the  cold 
ground,  and  he  will  not  come  back  till  I  am  dead.'  And  I 
said,  '  Hush,  child !  he  has  only  gone  to  the  village,  and  will 
be  back  in  an  hour.'  And  she  said,  *  Who  ? '  and  I  said,  '  Seth, 
your  husband.'  Then  she  said,  'My  husband!'  and  broke 
out  in  a  loud  laugh ;  and  I  told  the  old  woman-servant  to 
watch  her  well,  and  I  would  come  back  in  the  evening." 

Poor  Homer  gave  a  deep  groan,  and  then  took  his  milk- 
pail,  and  went  into  the  yard  where  the  cows  were  waiting  to 
be  milked. 

The  next  term  of  the  court,  before  which  Seth  was  to  be 


268  GOMERY    OP    MONTGOMERY  I 

tried,  would  not  commence  for  three  weeks  after  his  com- 
mittal to  prison ;  but  the  whole  question  of  property  was 
as  well  decided  the  next  day,  in  the  minds  of  the  people,  as 
ever  it  could  be.  Gomery  was  recognized  as  the  rightful 
owner  of  all  he  had  ever  possessed,  and  assumed  the  control 
of  it ;  no  one  venturing  to  question  his  right. 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  269 


CHAPTER  XX. 


H  There  is  thy  gold,  —  worse  poison  to  men's  souls, 
Doing  more  murders  in  this  loathsome  world, 
Than  these  poor  compounds  that  thou  mayst  not  sell." 

Romeo  and  Juliet. 

The  good  people  of  Montgomery,  who,  like  many  others, 
were  much  inclined  to  attend  to  other  people's  business,  even 
if  they  must  neglect  their  own,  had  been  so  astonished  at  the 
last  revolution  of  Fortune's  wheel,  which  had  so  utterly  upset 
the  late  much-respected  Mr.  Seth  Mettlar,  that  the  story  of 
Walter  Gomery  was,  for  a  time,  little  thought  of.  When 
alluded  to,  it  was  considered  very  strange  that  so  well-inten- 
tioned a  youth  should  conduct  himself  as  the  newspapers 
had  represented  him  to  have  done.  But  a  different  report 
appeared  in  the  papers  within  a  week  of  Seth's  incarceration ; 
and  this  again  furnished  a  subject  of  much  curious  specula- 
tion. 

Capt.  Dykes  had  escaped,  without  question  or  interruption, 
from  the  land  of  slavery.  As  he  had  disposed  of  the  "  Good 
Intent "  at  a  bargain,  he  concluded  he  would  give  up  the 
coasting  business,  and  spend  the  rest  of  his  days,  with  his 
wife  and  children,  on  his  little  farm  down  in  Maine.  At  least, 
he  thought,  that,  if  he  made  any  further  voyages,  he  had  better 
keep  a  respectful  distance  from  Lancaster.  After  his  return, 
he  watched  the  papers  closely  for  news  from  the  Altamaha, 
and  of  the  fate  of  the  "Good  Intent."  Even  before  he 
reached  his  home,  he  read  that  she  had  escaped  to  sea,  tak- 
ing with  her  one  hundred  and  fifteen  valuable  slaves,  after 
being  pursued  by  a  swift  steamer ;  and  was  on  the  point  of 
being  captured,  when  the  steamer  was  disabled  by  the  base 
and  treacherous  act  of  a  young  Yankee,  who  was  doubtless 
the  instigator  of  the  conspiracy.  Capt.  Dykes  feared  that 
this  young  Yankee  was  none  other  than  his  friend  and  quon- 
dam passenger,  Walter  Gomery.  But  the  papers  did  not 
give  the  culprit's  name,  alleging  that  he  had  refused  to  tell 

23* 


270  GOMEEY   OP    MONTGOMERY  : 

who  he  was ;  and  from  this  Dykes  inferred  that  it  could  not 
be  Walter,  as  his  name  was  well  known  to  many  in  Lancas- 
ter. The  accounts  also  added,  that,  at  first,  his  name  was 
supposed  to  be  Torrence,  from  the  marks  on  his  linen ;  but, 
as  this  had  doubtless  been  stolen  from  some  clothes-line, 
little  could  be  inferred  from  the  fact. 

A  fine  character,  Walter,  our  Southern  brethren  and  chiv- 
alrous neighbors  are  giving  you  \ 

Capt.  Dykes  had  not  been  at  home  two  days,  when  he 
read  in  a  Boston  paper  of  the  safe  arrival  of  the  fugitives, 
and  their  own  account  of  their  escape.  His  fears  that  his 
friend  Walter  was  the  person  implicated  were  now  con- 
firmed :  for  the  fugitives'  account  stated  that  the  first  person 
who  got  wTind  of  their  flight  was  a  Yankee  schoolmaster ; 
and  that,  accompanied  by  a  large  number  of  planters  and 
overseers,  he  had  pursued  them  on  a  steamer,  and  was  on 
the  point  of  overhauling  them,  when,  providentially,  some- 
thing gave  way  aboard  the  steamer,  and  so  they  escaped. 
This  schoolmaster,  it  was  added,  was  named  Walter  Gomery, 
from  the  town  of  Montgomery,  State  of . 

So  it  appeared  that  Walter  was  getting  credit  from  nei- 
ther party  for  his  services.  The  fugitives  accused  him  of 
exposing  their  plans,  and  attempting  to  catch  them,  that  they 
might  be  remanded  to  slavery.  The  slave-owners,  on  the 
other  hand,  ascribed  to  him  the  disabling  of  the  engine,  and 
their  consequent  escape.  Capt.  Dykes  at  once  perceived  the 
truth  of  the  case,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  a  Boston  paper,  stat- 
ing that,  of  his  own  knowledge,  the  Yankee  schoolmaster, 
who  was  accused  by  the  fugitives  of  having  informed  upon 
them,  and  the  young  man  who  was  in  prison  for  having  pre- 
vented their  recapture,  were  one  and  the  same  person.  This 
statement  of  Capt.  Dykes  was  read  by  the  people  of  Mont- 
gomery ;  when,  for  the  first  time,  they  learned  of  the  actual 
part  taken  by  Walter,  but  of  which  his  father  and  mother 
had  known  for  weeks. 

These  accounts,  being  copied  into  various  papers,  soon 
reached  Lancaster;  and  great  was  the  alarm  which  they 
caused.  It  would  be  a  month  longer  before  the  court  would 
sit  that  could  try  the  prisoner,  and  it  was  not  certain  that 
a  capital  case  would  be  made  of  it  even  then.  There  was 
no  time  to  lose.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  be  tided 
and  hanged,  legally  and  decently,  before  the  facts  of  the  case 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  271 

were  fully  bruited  at  the  North.  Besides  (and  which  was  of 
more  importance),  the  slaves  far  and  near  were  taking  a  great 
interest  in  the  case ;  and,  in  spite  of  all  that  flogging  could 
do,  there  were  a  great  many  secret  meetings  being  held; 
and  a  plot  to  burn  the  town  and  rescue  the  prisoner  was 
suspected. 

But,  while  debating  on  this  difficult  matter,  another  letter 
was  received  from  Seth  Mettlar.  It  had  been  written  in  the 
Chesterville  jail  —  though  he  did  not  allude  to  that  inter- 
esting fact  in  the  letter  —  to  a  friend  in  Boston  to  be  posted. 
In  this  letter  he  said,  that,  in  his  former  one,  he  had  omitted 
to  mention  certain  suspicious  circumstances  that  had  come 
under  his  observation,  and  which  he  thought  it  important 
that  his  "  Southern  friends  "  should  know.  He  said  that  it 
was  beyond  question  that  a  desperate  attempt  was  to  be 
made  to  rescue  the  atrocious  criminal  that  they  held  a  pris- 
oner, and  that  no  time  should  be  lost  in  rendering  such  an 
act  an  impossibility.  The  means  to  be  adopted  for  this  were 
entirely  unknown  to  him ;  but  it  was  quite  clear  that  the 
father  of  the  culprit  was  in  collusion  with  spies  and  traitors 
in  their  own  midst.  A  suspicious-looking  man  had  been 
lurking  about  Montgomery  some  two  weeks  before,  and  it 
was  known  that  he  held  secret  interviews  with  the  elder 
Gomery ;  and  there  was  no  doubt  that  he  brought  secret  in- 
formation of  the  son's  disgraceful  acts.  He  was  a  tall,  spare 
man,  with  light  hair  and  eyes,  a  little  bald,  with  a  scar  on 
his  left  cheek,  was  minus  a  front  tooth,  and  apparently  from 
thirty  to  thirty-five  years  of  age. 

This  letter  was  first  read  by  the  postmaster,  who  took  it 
to  the  district  judge,  and  then  to  Dr.  Lancy,  and  afterwards 
to  the  jailer.  Suspicion  at  once  fell  on  the  right  party, 
though  they  could  hardly  believe  that  such  a  true  Southron 
could  be  guilty  of  such  turpitude.  He  was  so  loyal  to 
Southern  institutions,  such  a  hater  of  fanaticism,  so  vindic- 
tive against  all  suspected  of  antislavery  prejudices,  was  so 
sensitive  of  his  honor,  so  proud  of  his  Cavalier  ancestry,  that 
he  was  the  last  man  to  suspect  in  the  whole  country.  Nev- 
ertheless, the  signs  were  against  him.  The  description  an- 
swered to  his;  and  he  had  frequently  visited  the  prisoner 
during  the  first  days  of  his  confinement,  and  had  subse- 
quently gone  North,  ostensibly  called  thither  by  the  death  of 
a  brother.     He  had  returned  flush  of  money,  saying  that  it 


272  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY! 

was  left  him  by  the  deceased ;  but  that  was  only  his  word, 
and  proved  nothing.  Notwithstanding,  however,  all  this 
accumulated  evidence  against  him,  as  he  was  a  high-toned 
gentleman,  and  very  sensitive  on  points  of  honor,  it  would 
not  do  to  hint  a  suspicion  without  proof  positive.  Therefore, 
proof  must  first  be  sought;  and  the  best  way  they  could 
imagine  to  find  it  was  to  search  his  rooms,  and  overhaul  his 
papers.  Taking  advantage  of  his  absence,  this  was  done;  and 
in  the  side-pocket  of  his  best  coat  was  found  the  order  of 
Freeborn  Gomery  on  himself,  indorsed  by  Walter.  This 
was  sufficient ;  and  the  self-constituted  detectives  proclaimed 
aloud  that  they  had  discovered  the  traitor.  Soon  after,  the 
unfortunate  Larcomb  returned  home,  and  found  his  room  full 
of  people.  He  feared  he  was  suspected,  but  thought  he  had 
covered  his  tracks  too  well  to  be  traced  or  discovered.  He 
had  forgotten  that  he  had  left  the  draft  where  it  could  be  so 
easily  found.  But,  when  he  saw  the  angry  faces  of  the  crowd 
that  had  gathered  around  the  house  where  he  lived,  he  sus- 
pected the  worst.  They  hardly  showed  less  fury  towards 
their  own  high-toned  friend  than  they  had  shown  a  short  time 
before  towards  the  low,  grovelling  Yankee.  The  draft  was 
handed  to  him  by  Dr.  Lancy ;  and  a  dozen  angry  voices  at 
once  asked  how  he  came  by  it. 

The  poor  wretch  had  nothing  to  say.  He  cowed  and 
cringed  and  begged;  he  whined  and  sniffled.  He  said  he 
didn't  see  what  harm  it  was  to  euchre  them  mean  Yankees 
out  of  two  or  three  thousand  dollars.  But  it  was  all  of  no 
avail.  Those  who  have  lived  in  the  South  well  know  the  ever- 
present  dread  of  servile  insurrection.  Who  might  they  not 
suspect,  if  this  man,  a  pink  of  chivalry,  a  dead-shot,  who  had 
pinked  one  man  and  killed  another,  was  a  traitor.  He,  the 
soul  of  honor,  was  false ;  and  who  could  be  trusted  ? 

Tar  and  feathers  were  suggested  ;  and  soon  after  a  blazing 
fire  was  on  the  common,  and  a  kettle  of  tar  was  soon  warmed 
into  comfortable  and  liquid  consistency ;  and,  amid  the  hoot- 
ings  and  execrations  of  five  hundred  people,  this  scion  of  the 
old  Cavalier  stock  was  decked  in  plumage  that  once  adorned 
the  sea-fowls  of  the  coast  of  Labrador.  Then  a  rail  was 
brought ;  and  four  stout  negroes  were  ordered  to  bear  him 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  town,  where  he  was  put  down,  and 
told,  that,  if  ever  seen  in  that  vicinity  again,  he  would  not 
get  off  alive. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  273 

The  next  morning,  lie  was  found  dead  about  a  mile  from 
the  town,  with  a  bullet  through  his  head.  No  one  knew  who 
had  shot  him ;  no  one  cared.  He  had  died  as  he  deserved 
to  die ;  and  that  was  enough. 

But  there  was  great  uneasiness  felt,  not  only  in  Lancaster, 
but  throughout  the  entire  county.  The  slaves  were  acting 
suspiciously.  They  knew  well  enough  that  the  prisoner  had 
sacrificed  his  life  to  give  freedom  to  their  companions  in 
bondage.  There  was  something  very  strange  in  this,  how- 
ever. In  their  experience  and  knowledge  of  white  men, 
they  had  never  seen  any  thing  like  it.  They  thought  this 
man,  now  a  prisoner,  must  be  an  exception  to  all  others  they 
had  ever  known.  They  thought  there  must  be  something 
more  than  human  about  him ;  and  in  spite  of  all  that  mas- 
ters, overseers,  or  dogs  could  do,  the  slaves  would  get  to- 
gether, and  talk  of  the  case  of  "  poor  Walter,"  as  he  was 
called  by  them.  Among  themselves,  they  said  he  was  not  a 
man,  but  "  a  angel ; "  that  the  day  of  deliverance  was  at 
hand.  This  man  must  be,  at  least,  a  second  John  the  Bap- 
tist. 

In  this  alarming  state  of  affairs,  a  public  meeting  was 
called  to  take  into  consideration  the  means  necessary  to  the 
public  security.  No  colored  people  were  allowed  to  be 
present ;  and  even  the  poorer  class  of  whites  was  excluded. 
At  this  meeting,  it  was  decided  that  a  small  and  select 
Committee  of  Public  Safety  should  be  chosen,  who  should 
have  full  power  to  act,  and  not  be  held  responsible  to  any- 
body. It  was  voted  that  the  laws  should  not  be  allowed  to 
interfere  with  the  exercise  of  their  duties ;  that  they  should 
never  be  called  upon  to  report ;  but  that  their  doings  should 
ever  remain  secret. 

Of  course,  only  men  of  very  high  character  could  be 
trusted  on  so  important  a  committee.  In  selecting  it,  every 
member  must  not  only  have  large  investments  in  human 
cattle,  but  must  have  imbibed  a  love  of  slavery  with  his 
mother's,  or  rather  his  nurse's  milk.  Some  were  proposed 
for  the  committee  on  account  of  their  brutal  and  inhuman 
treatment  of  their  slaves ;  but  this  was  considered  more  as 
a  proof  of  a  bad  temper  than  of  pure  blood.  Others  were 
considered  disqualified  by  reason  of  their  blood  having  been 
contaminated,  at  some  period,  by  a  Northern  alliance. 
Kingsbury  was  rejected,  most  righteously,  for  having  so  far 


274  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

forgot  himself  as  to  marry  a  Northern  woman  for  a  wife. 
The  chairman  of  the  committee  was  Col.  Singleton,  a  mem- 
ber of  the  State  Senate,  and  said  to  be  booked  for  the  next 
Congress.  His  two  associates  were  Solomon  Scoville  and 
Dr.  Lancy;  the  former  distinguished  as  a  leading  member 
of  the  Old-School  Church,  and  for  his  success  in  redeeming 
an  encumbered  estate  in  Virginia,  which  had  been  accom- 
plished by  raising  babies  to  sell  in  the  markets  of  the  cotton 
and  sugar  States.  The  other  was  a  man  of  great  wealth ; 
and  owned  more  slaves  than  any  other  two  men  in  the  county. 
His  wife  was  his  first  cousin  ;  and  the  estate  had  been  hers 
before  marriage,  when  she  was  regarded  as  the  richest  heiress 
in  Georgia.  They  claimed  descent,  in  a  direct  line,  from 
John  Lancy,  son  of  a  baronet  of  that  name  who  had  fallen 
in  the  battle  of  Sedgemoor,  and  whose  son  received  a  large 
grant  of  land  in  Virginia  from  Charles  II.  after  the  Restora- 
tion. The  grantee  had  a  sister  who  was  a  famous  belle  in 
her  day,  and  one  of  the  bright  lights  of  that  virtuous  mon- 
arch's court.  Some  said  that  the  king's  gratitude  was  of 
that  kind  which  is  a  sense  of  favors  to  come  ;  but,  of  course, 
that  was  a  gross  slander  on  a  virtuous  and  grateful  monarch. 

The  committee  held  a  secret  meeting  the  same  night ;  and 
it  was  decided  that  the  most  prompt  measures  should  be 
taken.  To  wait  for  the  regular  term  of  the  court,  they  all 
agreed  would  be  suicidal ;  for  if  they  could  get  a  conviction, 
and  conviction  for  a  capital  crime,  it  would  be  dangerous  to 
venture  on  a  public  execution.  The  slaves  all  regarded  him 
as  a  saint  or  deliverer;  and  though  any  outbreak  or  insur- 
rection could,  as  they  believed,  be  easily  suppressed,  they 
would  all  look  upon  him  as  a  blessed  martyr.  They  might 
think,  if  there  was  one  man  so  self-sacrificing,  there  must  be 
many;  and  if  the  abolitionists,  which  their  masters  had 
always  told  them  were  a  set  of  ghouls  that  feasted  on  the 
flesh  of  young  picaninnies,  were  like  this  one  who  freely 
ventured  his  own  life  for  them,  it  must  be  a  fine  thing  to 
escape  to  a  land  where  abolitionists  were  abundant. 

But  the  chief  ground  of  alarm  was  the  danger  that  the 
slaves  might  regard  his  execution  as  a  crime  of  their  own, 
and  might  avenge  it  with  fearful  fury.  The  current  of 
thought  among  them  was  well  understood.  One  of  their 
most  influential  preachers  had  been  overheard,  in  a  meeting 
held  in  the  darkest  midnight,  praying  to  the  Lord  to  en- 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  275 

lighten  him  in  his  duty.  The  burden  of  his  prayer  was,  that 
a  good  man  —  one  who,  like  the  God  he  addressed,  and  the 
Redeemer  of  the  world,  loved  the  slave  —  had  come  among 
them,  and  had  broken  many  chains,  and  was  to  be  put  to 
death  for  it.  Was  it  his  duty,  and  the  duty  of  the  other 
darkies,  to  rise  up,  and  try  to  save  him  ?  or  would  they  not 
deserve  chains  of  slavery  in  this  life,  and  the  chains  of  hell 
afterwards,  if  they  quietly  held  their  peace,  and  made  no 
effort  for  his  deliverance  ? 

Another  difficulty  in  the  way  of  a  public  trial  and  execu- 
tion would  be  the  notoriety  they  would  entail.  The  facts 
would  certainly  all  get  out  if  he  were  to  have  a  regular,  open 
trial.  He  would  then  be  privileged  to  employ  counsel ;  and, 
as  it  was  now  known  that  he  had  relations  of  wealth 
and  influence,  some  famous  lawyers  of  national  reputation, 
whom  it  would  not  do  to  tar  and  feather,  might  be  sent 
to  defend  him ;  and  then  they  would  learn  all  about  the 
monstrous  system  of  falsehood  that  it  had  been  necessary  to 
adopt  in  order  to  maintain  Southern  rights  and  Southern 
honor.  If  he  would  only  oblige  them,  and  die,  it  would 
save  a  world  of  trouble ;  and  if  he  would  not  even  do  so 
small  a  thing  as  that,  after  all  the  trouble  he  had  given  them, 
then  it  was  no  more  than  right  that  means  should  be  found 
to  make  him  do  it. 

The  same  committee  met  again  at  ten  o'clock  the  next 
morning;  and,  this  time,  it  was  considered  necessary  to 
take  into  their  counsels  another  person,  —  a  man  whose  busi- 
ness it  was  to  hunt  up  runaway  slaves,  and  who  kept  a 
pack  of  dogs  for  that  purpose.  They  concluded  that  a  man 
whose  business  evinced  so  laudable  a  desire  to  guard  the 
sacred  rights  of  property  would  have  no  scruples  in  under- 
taking any  job  that  promised  good  pay.  But  they  were 
mistaken :  he  required  to  be  both  flattered  and  coaxed.  His 
name  was  George  Riley ;  though  he  was  always  called  cock- 
eyed Riley,  from  a  defect  of  vision  that  his  nickname  clearly 
indicated.  He  had  made  a  moderate  fortune  by  buying 
runaways  at  a  low  figure,  and  hunting  them  from  their  holes, 
and  then  selling  them  to  be  taken  West  or  South.  His 
business  was  revolting,  even  to  those  that  employed  him ; 
and,  sensible  of  the  abhorrence  in  which  he  was  held,  he 
was  very  scrupulous  in  his  deportment.  He  was  very 
anxious  for  social  recognition;   and,  to  gain  it,  was  most 


276  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY: 

exemplary  in  general  conduct.  He  was  temperate  in  his 
habits,  punctual  at  church,  and  liberal  in  all  public  displays 
and  charities.  He  was  now  a  widower  of  forty,  with  one 
child,  —  a  daughter,  whom,  though  grossly  illiterate  himself,  he 
spared  no  expense  to  have  educated.  Such  was  the  man 
taken  into  the  counsels  of  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety. 
They  were  all  closeted  in  a  room  in  Col.  Singleton's  house ; 
and  the  vanity  of  Riley  was  highly  inflated  when  he  received 
a  polite  note  from  the  chairman,  saying  that  he  was  invited 
to  meet  the  committee  on  business  of  the  first  importance 
and  the  strictest  privacy.  Of  course,  he  attended  with 
alacrity. 

"  Well,  George,"  said  the  chairman :  "  this  is  serious  busi- 
ness." 

"  Very  serious,  Col.  Singleton." 

"  We  have  concluded  that  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  special 
jailer  for  this  fellow  that's  in  prison." 

"What  is  the  objection  to  Jim  Iverson?  He's  an  honest 
man  enough.  You  know  he  was  offered  five  thousand  dol- 
lars to  give  young  Gadden  a  chance  to  escape  :  but  he 
wouldn't  touch  it ;  and  so  old  Gov.  Gadden  saved  his  mon- 
ey. He  might  'ave  known  a  Georgia  jury  would  never  con- 
vict a  son  of  a  gov'nor,  and  of  the  old  Cavalier  stock  besides. 
Do  you  know,  colonel"  — 

"What?" 

"  Seeing  we  are  all  gentlemen,  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
something." 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  The  old  gov'nor  give  me  a  thousand  dollars  to  find  him 
a  witness.  Not  that  I  cared  for  the  money ;  but  I  thought  it 
my  duty,  as  a  man  and  a  Christian,  to  prevent  the  disgrace 
of  a  public  execution  of  a  member  of  one  of  the  best  fami- 
lies on  the  eastern  shore. 

"  You  are  as  bad  as  Iverson.  He  is  an  honest  man  enough  : 
but  he  will  blab.  What  business  had  he  to  tell  about  that 
offer  of  five  thousand  dollars?  You  know  it  led  to  the 
death  of  young  Poindexter.  He  repeated  the  story,  and 
said  it  was  a  scandalous  affair.  Nobody  could  deny  that : 
yet  Gadden's  brother  was  bound  to  take  it  up,  and  call  him 
out  to  vindicate  the  family  honor ;  and  the  result  was,  Poin- 
dexter was  shot.  Now,  if  you  are  to  be  admitted  into  our 
councils,  you  must  hold  your  tongue." 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  277 

"  Certainly,  certainly  !  I  shall  be  the  discreetest  critter 
ever  you  seen." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  act  as  special  jailer." 

"  Special  jailer !  Hum !  I  'spose  I'll  be  well  paid  for  it.  My 
time  is  vaPable  now;  for  there's  heaps  o'  niggers  running  off. 
So  I'll  expect  pay  for  my  time,  though  I'm  as  anxious  as  any- 
body to  see  this  infernal  villain  hung.  This  thing  of  running 
off  niggers  by  sea  must  be  stopped,  or  my  business  will  be 
ruined.     My  dogs  won't  be  worth  three  dollars  apiece." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  undertake  this  business ;  and  if 
every  thing  is  carried  out  well,  and  you  do  your  duty  honor- 
ably and  like  a  gentleman,  three  days  after  the  affair  is  over 
you  shall  be  paid,  in  gold,  five  hundred  dollars." 

"What  am  I  to  do?" 

"  Can't  you  surmise  ?  It  will  never  do  to  bring  that  sneak- 
ing coward  to  trial." 

"  Well,  then,  why  not  call  him  out  ?  Have  the  weapons 
doctored,  and  there  will  be  no  danger." 

"  A  Southern  gentleman  call  out  a  Yankee  thief  to  fight ! 
I  thought  you  had  some  sense." 

"  What  is  to  be  done,  then  ?  " 

"  Hush !     He  must  be  coaxed  to  die  in  prison." 

"  Oh !  you  want  him  pisened,  do  you  ?  Well,  I  shall  have 
nothing  to  do  with  that  job." 

"Yes,  very  likely,"  said  Lancy,  rising  up,  and  walking 
across  the  room :  "  that  is  just  the  way  with  you  mean-spirited 
nigger-catchers !  You  care  for  nothing  but  money  ;  haven't  a 
particle  of  public  spirit." 

"You  don't  consider  the  importance  of  this  wrork,"  said 
Scoville.  "  You  will  be  doing  what  will  entitle  you  to  the 
gratitude  of  the  whole  State,  if  they  could  know  of  it." 

"  And  to  be  hanged  myself,  if  I'm  found  out." 

"  You  will  not  be  found  out,"  said  Lancy.  "  No  one  will 
know  of  it  but  yourself,  unless  you  tell  of  it ;  and,  besides, 
some  one  must  do  it.  The  safety  of  our  institutions  and  the 
conservation  of  society  require  it.  It  is  a  necessity.  Have 
you  no  patriotism  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Scoville.  "And  have  you  no  religion ?  Are 
you  not  aware  that  we  are  exposed  to  a  deluge  of  Northern 
infidelity,  and  that  it  is  a  religious  duty  to  labor  with  all  our 
might  to  check  the  first  inroads  of  their  abominable  here- 
sies?" 

vol.  II.  24 


278  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY. 

"  I  hope  I  ain't  senseless  to  my  religious  duties,"  replied  the 
slave-catcher. 

"  But  have  you  no  patriotism  ?  "  broke  in  Lancy.  "  We 
are  not  to  look  too  nicely  into  the  character  of  our  acts,  when 
the  institutions  of  liberty  and  the  religion  of  our  forefathers 
are  at  stake." 

"  How  do  you  propose  to  do  it  ?  "  said  Riley,  beginning  to 
yield.     "  I  am  afeard  I'll  be  fotched  up  if  I  try  it." 

"  Not  the  least  danger,"  said  Lancy.  "  I  know  just  the  way 
to  do  it.  Only  give  him  a  sleeping  draught  a  little  too  strong 
for  him,  and  the  thing  is  done." 

"  But  there'll  be  a  public  inquiry." 

"  We  have  provided  for  that.  Iverson  will  know  nothing 
of  it;  and  when  he  goes  in  and  finds  him  past  waking,  with 
a  bottle  marked  'Laudanum'  by  his  side,  of  course  he  will 
see  that  he  committed  suicide." 

"That's  true,"  said  Riley,  musing.  "How  much  did  you 
say  would  be  paid  ?  " 

"Five  hundred  dollars." 

"  I  don't  mind  so  much  about  the  money ;  but  I  am  strong- 
ly impressed  with  the  patriotic  and  religious  arguments  of 
the  case.  On  the  whole,  I  think  I  will.  I'll  take  charge  of  him. 
But  I  must  consider  further  about  putting  him  to  sleep. 
Good  joke,  that!" 

"Very  well :  we  shall  tell  Iverson  to  turn  him  over  to  you. 
You- will  keep  the  key  of  his  cell,  and  go  in  and  see  that  all 
is  safe  two  or  three  times  a  day.  I  will  give  you  the  medi- 
cine in  a  day  or  two,  and  the  directions  for  using  it." 

The  slave-catcher  left,  and  the  other  three  remained. 

"Faith,"  said  Scoville,  "how  do  we  know  he  will  not  be- 
tray us  ?     He  is  bad  enough  for  any  thing." 

"Because  he  knows  nobody  would  believe  him,"  said  Sin- 
gleton. "  We  have  only  to  stand  together,  and  say  he  is  an 
infamous  liar,  as  everybody  knows  he  is ;  and  he  would  be 
put  out  of  the  way  in  the  twinkling  of  a  jack-knife." 

The  patriotic  slave-catcher  was  duly  installed  as  special 
guardian  of  Walter ;  and  his  employers  had  taken  pains  to 
say  to  certain  persons,  who  were  sure  to  report  it  to  him,  that 
it  had  been  thought  necessary,  for  so  important  a  trust,  to 
have  some  one  of  character  and  responsibility.  The  remark, 
however,  repeated  to  others,  caused  a  grim  smile  on  many 
features. 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  279 

Riley  was  in  high  spirits ;  his  vanity  was  touched ;  and  he 
thought  that  now  he  had  surmounted  the  social  prejudice 
against  him,  and  spoke  of  the  duties  that  "us  leading  men 
owes  to  society."  The  first  day  after  his  instalment,  he 
sent  a  magnificent  bouquet  (the  flowers  for  which  he  had 
bribed  Dr.  Lancy's  gardener  to  procure  for  him.  from  Mrs. 
Lancy's  hot-house)  to  the  daughter  of  Col.  Singleton,  to 
whom  he  had  never  yet  been  allowed  to  speak.  She  would 
have  indignantly  returned  it  with  a  stinging  message,  but 
her  father  forbade  it.  The  next  day,  she  received  another 
still  finer,  with  a  card,  on  which  two  hearts,  with  an  arrow 
pierced  through  them  (like  two  pigeons  on  a  spit),  were  nice- 
ly worked  in  pencil ;  and  underneath  this  suggestive  figure 
were  the  oft-quoted  lines  from  Ingomar,  in  the  donor's  own 
proper  and  peculiar  calligraphy,  and  so  altered  in  the  spelling 
as  to  conform  to  the  writer's  ideas  of  orthography :  — 

"  To  Soles  with  Butt  a  single  thawt, 
To  harts  that  bete  as  wun." 

This  was  too  much  even  for  Col.  Singleton  to  stand  ;  and 
he  soothed  his  proud  and  angry  daughter  by  telling  her  that 
he  would  put  a  stop  to  such  things  in  the  future.  He  accord- 
ingly told  Riley,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  that  his  daughter 
was  engaged  to  a  very  devil  of  a  fire-eater  in  Charleston, 
who  was  jealous  and  brave  as  Othello,  and  would  be  sure  to 
call  out  any  man  of  his  own  standing  if  he  found  him  trying 
to  supplant  him  in  his  daughter's  affections.  He  was  a  terri- 
ble duellist,  was  this  Palmetto  Quattlebum ;  and  that  was 
the  only  objection  to  him  as  a  son-in-law. 

"But,"  said  Riley,  his  hopes  falling  fast,  "  I  seen  her  walk 
home  from  church  twice  with  Bill  Tyson ;  and  the  boy  that 
took  my  bokets  said  that  he  took  'em  for  Bill  e'enamost 
every  day." 

"But  you  know  Bill  Tyson  is  nobody:  his  father  owns 
only  four  niggers,  but  he  buys  tobacco  and  sells  goods;  and 
Bill,  because  he  has  been  North,  and  got  learning  at  one  of 
their  colleges,  thinks  a  heap  of  himself.  But  who  would  ever 
think  of  taking  him  into  the  Committee  of  Public  Safety  ? 
Oh,  no !  it's  only  such  men  as  you  are,  of  high  character  and 
large  property,  that  could  excite  Quattlebum's  jealousy.  Of 
course,  he  must  be  informed  of  your  attentions.  I  hope  you 
will  get  through  this  little  affair  in  the  jail  before  he  comes; 


280  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

for,  if  you  do  not,  we  must  get  somebody  else,  as  he  will  not 
wait  two  hours  for  satisfaction ;  and,  as  he  is  a  dead  shot,  the 
result  will  be  as  well  known  before  it  happens  as  afterwards." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  colonel !  I  didn't  mean  nothing.  Do  write 
to  him,  and  say  as  much ;  and  I'll  never  do  so  no  more." 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  about  it.  But  you  must  not  neglect 
this  other  matter." 

"Never  fear,  colonel,  about  that.  He'll  sleep  well  to- 
morrow night,  I  reckon." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  281 


CHAPTER     XXI. 

"  Brabantio.    It  is  too  true  an  evil :  gone  she  is; 
And  what's  to  come  of  my  despised  time 
Is  nought  but  bitterness."— Othello. 

The  unfortunate  and  persecuted  Seth  Mettlar  is  fast  locked 
up  in  the  Chesterville  jail ;  and  no  one  of  his  late  friends  goes 
to  visit  him  or  comfort  him  in  his  misfortunes.  Even  his 
once  devoted  brother-in-law  avoids  him ;  and  the  swift  witness 
in  Boston,  who  had  been  a  constant  and  pestilent  friend 
during  his  days  of  prosperity,  always  calling  for  more  money, 
and  threatening  disclosures  if  he  did  not  get  it,  suddenly  took 
flight  for  parts  unknown  when  he  learned  that  his  patron  and 
chief  had  come  to  grief.  Squire  Gomery  and  Joe  Pumpagin 
—  for,  though  his  true  name  is  now  known  to  be  Randolph 
Gault,  he  is  still  and  always  will  be  called  Joe  Pumpagin  by 
the  people  of  Montgomery  —  are  busy  in  preparing  the  legal 
papers  that  shall  restore  the  Gomery  Estate  to  its  rightful 
owner.  Though,  by  the  legal  verdicts  and  decisions  in  the 
case  of  Mettlar  vs.  Gomery,  Joe  might  claim  it  for  himself, 
he  knew  that,  in  justice,  he  had  no  right  to  it  whatever:  be- 
sides, he  did  not  want  it  if  he  had.  His  investments  farther  west 
had  made  him  rich,  —  rich  as  he  wanted  to  be;  and  he  felt, 
that,  with  a  single  exception,  the  labors  of  his  life  were  over, 
and  he  might  rest  in  quiet,  and  take  his  ease  till  he  was  sum- 
moned to  commence  his  last  and  longest  journey.  But  he 
must  make  an  effort  to  save  Walter ;  and  for  that  no  time  is 
to  be  lost.  Hastily  he  applied  himself  to  preparing  his  state- 
ment of  his  early  history,  identifying  himself  as  the  son  of 
David  Gault,  the  first  settler  on  Gault's  Hill,  and  making 
formal  oaths  to  the  same.  Then  he  made  a  will,  by  which  he 
named  Walter  Gomery  the  heir  of  all  his  property ;  and, 
in  case  he  did  not  survive  him,  then  it  was  to  take  the  due 
line  of  inheritance  in  the  same  manner  as  though  he  had  died 
seized  of  it.  Thus,  if  neither  were  to  return  alive,  the  whole 
of  Joe's  property  would  fall  to  Freeborn  Gomery. 

24* 


282  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

The  papers  had  all  been  drawn  up  so  as  to  be  used  at  the 
trial  of  Seth  Mettlar  in  case  that  Joe  should  not  be  able  to 
return  in  season  to  testify  at  the  trial.  Every  thing  was 
ready  ;  and  he  sat,  in  the  evening,  in  the  parlor  at  the  Pivot,  in 
company  with  the  squire  and  his  wife  and  Lady  Beresford, 
discussing  different  plans  for  Walter's  rescue.  It  was  decided 
that  he  should  leave  the  next  morning  for  New  York  ;  and 
there  he  was  to  rely  on  his  wits,  which,  on  many  occasions  as 
difficult  as  this,  had  served  him  most  effectually.  It  was  get- 
ting late ;  and  they  were  all  about  retiring  for  the  night,  when 
a  low  tap  was  heard  at  the  door.  The  squire  advanced,  and 
opened  it ;  and  a  crouching  female  figure,  sobbing  violently, 
passed  into  the  room.  She  sank  into  a  chair  near.  The 
bright  lights  of  the  room  revealed  that  it  was  Hester's 
mother,  Dorcas  Homer. 

"  What,  my  good  woman,  does  this  mean  ?  "  said  the  squire. 

"  She's  gone !  "  sobbed  the  distressed  woman. 

"  Gone !  who's  gone  ?  "  said  he.  "  Be  calm ;  and,  if  there  is 
any  new  trouble,  we  must  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  She  has  gone,  —  Hester.  She  left  her  house  last  night  in 
the  night ;  and  I  can't  find  her  nowhere." 

"When  did  you  see  her  last?"  inquired  Mrs.  Gomery. 

"Last  evening.  I  left  her  at  seven  o'clock  to  go  home  ;  and 
she  told  the  servants  all  to  go  to  bed,  and  she  has  not  been 
seen  since.  They  come  and  told  me,  this  morning,  that  she 
had  gone,  and  I  was  scared.  I  said,  '  Of  course,  she  has  gone 
to  Chesterville  to  see  her  husband ;'  but  Mr.  Homer  said  she 
had  gone  any  way  but  that.  But  I  took  Mr.  Mettlar's  horse 
and  wagon,  and  drove  clear  up  to  Chesterville  all  alone  ;  and 
the  jailer  said  there  had  been  no  woman  there ;  and  I  come 
home,  and  I  couldn't  learn  any  thing  about  her,  though  I  have 
inquired  at  all  the  neighbors' ;  and  Mr.  Homer  won't  move, 
but  he  sets  there  at  home,  and  don't  speak  to  anybody.  The 
only  words  he  said  all  day  yesterday  were,  'My  mother,  O 
my  mother !  forgive  me  ! '  And  Obed  he  calls  him  hard  names ; 
and  he  drinks  dreadful,  poor  boy !  "  Here  the  poor  woman 
broke  down  with  sobs  and  sighs ;  and  Mrs.  Gomery  went  and 
sat  down  beside  her,  and  put  her  arm  around  her,  and  said, 
"  No,  no !  do  not  cry  so  :  we  will  all  try  and  find  Hester ;  for 
we  all  loved  Hester." 

The  kind  words  seemed  but  to  aggravate  the  unhappy 
woman's  grief;  and  the  half-pent  sorrow  now  gushed  forth  in 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  283 

loud  lamentations  and  sclf-upbraidings.  After  a  while,  toe 
woman  became  more  calm  ;  and  then  the  squire  told  her  that 
they  would  all  set  to,  and  look  for  Hester  on  the  following 
day.  If  she  had  gone  away,  then  Mr.  Pumpagin,  who  was 
to  leave  the  next  morning  for  Boston  and  New  York,  would 
inquire  at  every  point  for  her,  and,  if  he  learned  any  thing  of 
her,  would  bring  her  back. 

"  Ah,  no,  no  !  "  said  the  mother.  "  She  has  not  gone  away; 
she  has  drowned  herself  in  the  river.  Ever  since  she  was 
married,  she  has  been  in  the  habit  of  going  down  to  the  bank 
of  the  river,  and  sitting  down  on  the  roots  of  the  big  elm 
that  bends  over  the  flood  below  the  falls,  and  looking  for 
hours  into  the  angry,  bubbling  stream.  I  know  now  what 
she  was  thinking  of;  and  she  is  drowned." 

Here  Joe  could  not  restrain  himself;  but,  as  if  musing  to 
himself,  said,  "Ah,  yes  !  I  remember,  — 

1  There  is  a  willow  grows  askant  the  brook, 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream  : 
Therewith  fantastic  garlands  did  she  make 
Of  crow-flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples, 
That  liberal  shepherds  give  a  grosser  name, 
Bnt  our  cold  maids  do  dead  men's  fingers  call  them  : 
There,  on  the  pendent  bows  her  coronet  weeds 
Clambering  to  hang,  an  envious  sliver  broke ; 
When  down  her  weedy  trophies  and  herself 
Fell  in  the  weeping  brook.' " 

"I  do  not  think  she  is  drowned,"  said  the  squire ;  " and  to- 
morrow we  will  look  for  her,  and  will  continue  to  look  till  we 
learn  something  of  her  fate.  Since  I  have  lived  here,  several 
people  have  been  drowned  in  the  river;  but  their  bodies  have 
all  been  found  within  a  few  days.  At  the  place  suggested, 
the  river  is  so  rapid,  that  it  is  no  use  to  drag  the  bottom ;  for 
a  person  falling  in  there  would  be  carried  half  a  mile  below. 
We  will  rouse  the  whole  town  for  the  search  to-morrow.  Mr. 
Pumpagin  will  endeavor  to  find  her  if  she  has  gone  away  to 
any  distance.  So  cheer  up,  my  good  woman,  and  let  us  hope 
for  the  best.     Your  grief  is  not  greater  than  ours." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Square  Gomery ;  don't  say  that !  You 
have  not  sold  your  child,  and  broke  his  heart  for  pride  and 
gold,  as  I  have.  It  is  all  my  fault,  my  shame,  my  sin  ! "  Here 
the  woman  broke  out  again  in  louder  cries,  and  fell  prostrate 
on  the  floor,  her  hands  stretched  towards  Gomery. 


284  GOMERY    OP   MONTGOMERY! 

This  painful  scene  brought  tears  into  all  eyes;  and  Mrs. 
Gomery  attempted  to  raise  the  prostrate  woman ;  but  her 
strength  was  not  sufficient.  The  prostrate  form  before  her 
was  too  helpless  and  limp  to  make  an  effort  to  rise.  Joe 
Pumpagin  saw  that  it  was  time  for  him  to  act.  He  opened 
the  door  to  the  kitchen,  and  bade  all  the  servants,  consisting 
of  two  men  and  two  women,  to  come  in.  They  came  rush- 
ing in  on  the  instant,  fearing  that  something  had  befallen 
Mrs.  Gomery. 

"  Gently,"  said  Joe,  — "  gently  take  up  that  woman,  and 
bear  her  to  a  bed  ;  gently,  I  say." 

The  order  was  implicitly  obeyed ;  and  Mrs.  Gomery  fol- 
lowed them  into  the  bed-room,  which  had  always  been  held 
as  a  sort  of  reserve  for  any  member  of  the  family  who  might 
chance  to  be  sick.  "Build  a  fire,"  said  she  to  one  of  the 
men.  She  then  proceeded,  with  the  aid  of  the  maid-ser- 
vants, to  disrobe  the  miserable  woman ;  and,  after  having 
placed  her  in  the  bed,  she  told  one  of  the  serving-women  to  go 
and  steep  some  valerian,  and  the  other  to  bring  the  camphor- 
bottle  and  the  paregoric.  Mrs.  Gomery  had  rightly  judged 
that  her  patient  was  suffering  from  nervous  excitement,  and 
that  what  she  most  needed  was  rest  and  sleep.  She  rubbed 
her  temples  with  the  camphorated  spirit,  and  gave  her  a  cup 
of  strong  valerian-tea,  and  afterwards  as  much  paregoric  as 
she  thought  it  safe  to  administer.  The  woman  tried  to  talk ; 
but  Mrs.  Gomery  hushed  her  to  silence ;  and,  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  or  two,  she  dropped  off  into  a  light  sleep.  Mrs. 
Gomery  sent  the  two  servants  to  bed,  and  said  she  would  call 
them  when  wanted.  She  then  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the 
sick  woman's  bed,  and  remained  watching  her,  repeating 
the  doses  of  valerian  whenever  she  woke  up,  till  she  heard  the 
clock  strike  four.  Then  she  called  one  of  the  servant-girls 
to  take  her  place,  and  retired  to  seek  her  own  pillow.  Her 
husband  and  Joe  sat  up  for  an  hour  or  two,  till  they  found 
that  the  sick  woman  had  fallen  asleep. 

The  next  morning,  Squire  Gomery  rose  as  soon  as  it  was 
light;  but  Joe  had  already  left  the  house,  and  gone  to  the 
village,  where  he  was  to  take  the  stage,  and  set  forth  on 
his  journey  for  the  rescue  of  Walter. 

Mrs.  Homer,  though  very  weak,  in  the  morning  was  calm, 
and  conscious  of  what  had  passed  the  night  before.  She  in- 
sisted on  returning  home;   and  the  squire  took  the   large 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  285 

family  carriage,  and,  with  his  wife,  carried  her  to  her  own 
house.  They  then  drove  into  the  village  ;  and,  telling  of  the 
flight  of  Hester,  they  set  the  whole  town  on  the  search ; 
but  no  tidings  or  trace  of  her  could  be  found. 

When  Joe  Pumpagin  arrived  at  the  station  where  the 
stage  discharged  its  passengers  for  the  train,  he  inquired  if  a 
woman  had  applied  for  a  ticket  the  day  before.  But  the  sta- 
tion-master could  give  no  information  ;  for  another  man  had 
been  in  charge  the  day  before,  and  he  had  left  on  the  first 
train  that  morning  for  Boston.  He  inquired  of  all  the 
hangers-on,  baggage-men,  and  conductors,  if  they  had  any 
recollection  of  a  woman  entering  the  cars  at  that  place  the 
day  before ;  but  no  one  could  remember  any  such  person  as 
he  described.  Some  twenty  passengers  had  entered  the 
train  there  the  day  before  ;  among  them,  several  ladies ;  but 
all  strangers.  Joe  felt  that  his  principal  business  was  too 
pressing  for  him  to  wait.  He  must  hurry  on,  or  else  be  too 
late ;  and  leave  others  to  the  task  of  finding  Hester. 

With  the  best  despatch  he  could  make,  Joe  made  direct  for 
New  York,  and,  within  four  hours  of  his  arrival,  had  bought 
and  paid  for  the  schooner  "Post-boy,"  that  was  already 
partially  loaded  with  lime,  bricks,  and  lumber,  to  be  taken  to 
Richmond.  He  bought  every  thing,  and  had  the  papers  duly 
executed ;  and,  constituting  himself  commander,  in  thirty 
hours  after  reaching  New  York,  the  canvas  of  the  "  Post-boy  " 
could  have  been  seen  scudding  down 'the  bay  before  a  stiff 
north-west  breeze. 


286  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

"  He  spake  of  love,  —  such  love  as  spirits  feel 
In  worlds  whose  course  is  equable  and  pure; 

No  fears  to  beat  away,  no  strife  to  heal ; 
The  past  unsigned  for,  and  the  future  sure : 

Spake  of  heroic  arts  in  graver  mood 

Revived,  with  finer  harmony  pursued. 

Of  all  that  is  most  beauteous,  imaged  there 

In  happier  beauty :  more  pellucid  streams, 
An  ample  ether,  a  diviner  air, 

And  fields  invested  with  purpureal  gleams ; 
Climes  which  the  sun,  who  sheds  the  brightest  day 
Earth  knows,  is  all  unworthy  to  survey. "  —  Wordsworth. 

During  the  time  that  Walter's  keepers  were  making  their 
benevolent  preparations  for  his  quiet  exit  from  the  trials  and 
troubles  of  this  capricious  world,  he  remained  closely  con- 
fined in  his  cell,  awaiting  the  doom  that  he  regarded  as  inev- 
itable. He  was  allowed  paper,  pen,  and  ink,  and  assured  by 
Dr.  Lancy,  on  the  honor  of  a  Southern  gentleman,  that  any 
letters  he  might  wish  to  send  would  be  sacredly  forwarded, 
with  their  seals  unbroken.  He  mildly  answered  that  he  had 
already  experienced  too  well  the  value  of  slavemongers' 
honor  to  think  of  trusting  to  it  again.  "To  that  honor," 
said  he,  "I  trusted,  and  was  betrayed;  but,  when  I  trusted 
to  their  cupidity,  I  succeeded.  The  man  that  will  steal  will 
lie :  the  highwayman  will  not  respect  private  letters ;  and,  as 
sure  as  the  greater  includes  the  less,  the  man  that  will  uphold 
and  justify  a  system  that  robs  a  man  of  himself,  imbrutes 
him,  and  makes  him  a  thing,  a  chattel,  a  slave,  will  commit 
any  lesser  crime.  If  you  will  rob  other  men  of  every  right 
that  God  has  given  them,  why  should  you  respect  my  right 
to  have  my  letters  forwarded  unopened  and  unread?"  The 
doctor  hastily  retired  from  this  charge  of  hot  shot;  saying,  as 
he  went,  that  "there  was  only  one  way  to  teach  low-bred 
Yankees  the  respect  due  to  Southern  gentlemen." 

Soon  after  this,  Walter  observed  that  a  new  keeper  was 
placed  over  him.     The  old  jailer,  Iverson,  for  whom  he  had 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  287 

begun  to  form  a  sort  of  regard,  no  longer  had  the  key  of  his 
cell,  and  never  came  to  see  him,  except  in  company  with  his 
new  custodian.  To  this  new  keeper,  Walter,  at  the  first  in- 
terview, felt  a  deep  and  instinctive  repugnance.  He  was 
intrusive  of  his  company  and  conversation ;  and,  when  Wal- 
ter asked  him  why  the  other  man  had  been  superseded,  he 
told  him  confidentially,  and  in  a  whisper,  that  "  we  citizens 
of  the  first  families  thought  it  necessary  to  have  a  man  of 
high  character  and  influence  in  so  important  a  position." 

Three  days  after  the  new  keeper  was  installed  in  his  office, 
he  was  invited  to  meet  Dr.  Lancy  at  his  private  house.  He 
complied;  and,  on  leaving,  took  away  with  him  two  small 
papers  containing  powders.  The  one  was  an  astringent, 
nearly  tasteless,  and  calculated  to  produce  thirst,  and  was  to 
be  mixed  with  the  food  of  the  prisoner's  supper.  The  other 
was  morphine,  and,  of  course,  intensely  bitter.  The  first 
would  produce  thirst;  and,  when  the  prisoner  should  ask  for 
water,  there  was  to  be  none  in  the  jail.  At  that  time,  the 
new  keeper  was  to  suggest  that  he  was  about  taking  a  drink 
of  ale,  and  offer  a  glass  to  his  prisoner,  which  would  doubt- 
less be  accepted,  and  eagerly  drank  off  without  the  extra  bit- 
terness from  the  added  soporific  being  observed. 

There  was  neither  art  nor  novelty  in  this  time-out-of-mind 
method  of  murder;  and  there  was  no  need  of  either,  as  there 
was  no  fear  of  post-mortem  investigations. 

The  plan,  as  sketched  by  Lancy,  was  carried  out  to  the 
letter  by  Riley.  The  beer,  into  which  the  light  powder  had 
been  thrown,  was  drunk  off  by  its  intended  victim;  after 
which  social  act,  Riley  immediately  left  the  jail,  with  the  key 
of  Walter's  room  in  his  pocket,  telling  Iverson  that  he  should 
be  back  again  that  night,  or  early  in  the  morning. 

It  was  »past  eleven  o'clock  when  Riley  left  the  prison. 
As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  Walter  began  pacing  up  and  down 
his  narrow  cell.  Gradually  he  experienced  a  most  pleasing 
sensation  stealing  over  him ;  when,  divesting  himself  of  his 
clothes,  he  lay  down  on  his  low,  miserable  bed,  and  blew  out 
the  only  tallow  dip  that  was  allowed  him.  A  moment  after, 
he  fancied  he  heard  his  name  called  by  a  soft  voice  at  his 
solitary  window.  He  listened,  and  was  sure  he  heard  the 
wTords,  "Walter,  Walter!  speak  tome!  —  one  word!"  in  a 
tone  that  was  most  pleasing  and  familiar.  But  the  powerful 
opiate  he  had  taken  rendered  his  thoughts  intensely  rapid 


288  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  I 

and  inconsecutive.  Notwithstanding  this,  however,  the  fan- 
cied resemblance  to  a  voice  that  once  breathed  into  his  ears 
the  words  of  love,  that,  after  their  forfeiture,  still  retained  a 
lingering  sweetness,  caused  his  thoughts  to  take  up  the 
tangled  thread  of  his  unhappy  passion ;  and,  in  a  few  short 
moments,  he  seemed  to  live  over  again  the  joys  of  his  entire 
life.  But  the  sweet,  sad  tones  of  the  familiar  voice  continued 
to  sound  in  his  ears  as  his  whole  life  seemed  to  spread  out 
in  a  grand  panorama  before  him.  It  appeared  to  him  that  he 
was  lifted  above  the  earth,  and  that  earthly  love  was  the 
only  bond  that  connected  him  with  it,  and  that  love  had  a 
perpetual  sad  refrain.  Yet  it  was  a  delicious  delirium. 
Then  he  closed  his  eyes  to  the  darkness  to  contemplate  the 
ever-changing,  ever-beautiful  scenes  and  objects  that  floated 
before  his  mental  sight.  Then  he  yielded  to  a  state  of  insen- 
sibility, and  knew  no  more  for  he  knew  not  how  long. 

At  length  he  awakened  to  what  appeared  to  him  a  new 
life ;  and  his  first  thought  was,  that  old  things  had  passed 
away,  and  that  he  had  entered  on  that  existence  which  is 
without  end.  He  saw  not,  knew  not,  where  he  was ;  but  the 
pains,  the  doubts,  the  cares,  of  earth  had  lost  their  hold  on 
him.  The  sadness  of  love's  refrain  was  changed  to  tran- 
scendent joy.  He  seemed  to  be  drifting  out  on  <the  sea  of 
eternity ;  and  wrhile  a  perfect  recollection,  or  rather  present 
consciousness,  of  every  event,  scene,  thought,  bias,  action, 
love,  and  passion,  was  present  to  him,  he  looked  back  upon 
it  all  as  past,  and  as  if  each  had  contributed  to  fit  him  for  the 
full  enjoyment  of  his  exceeding  happiness.  He  seemed  to 
mingle  in  and  become  a  part  of  the  great  ocean  of  infinity. 
Though  mingling  thus,  like  the  raindrops  with  the  ocean, 
he  still  preserved  his  identity,  and  his  individual,  distinct  con- 
sciousness ;  and  the  dark  spots  on  his  life,  that  he  viewed  with 
sorrow  in  the  flesh,  were  still  reproachfully  visible,  and 
seemed  to  say  it  must  be  millions  of  ages  ere  they  could  be 
washed  out,  and  fade  away  in  the  light  of  all-consuming  love. 
And  yet  his  happiness  so  far  excelled  all  human  conceptions 
of  bliss,  that  his  soul  swelled  with  praise  to  his  Creator  for 
having  brought  him  out  from  the  gross  cares  of  time  to  bathe 
in  this  eternal  ether.  The  power  of  motion  and  speech  were 
gone ;  and  yet  he  seemed  to  know  and  be  permeated  with 
the  knowledge,  feelings,  sensations,  and  ideas  of  those  around 
him,  who  mingled  and  made  up  the  infinity  of  beings  that 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY. 

pervaded  space.  His  sensitiveness  to  happiness  seemed  a 
thousand  times  multiplied ;  and,  compared  with  present  enjoy- 
ment, all  that  had  passed  was  as  the  lightest  trifles.  They  were 
mere  nothings.  They  seemed  only  to  have  been  the  means 
of  developing  and  forming  his  character,  as  chinks  or  cogs 
in  the  machinery  of  his  life,  that  had  at  last  evolved  a  being 
capable  of  exquisite  happiness.  And  yet  he  appeared  to  be 
on  the  shores  of  the  great  ocean  of  eternity;  and  the  happiness 
he  enjoyed  was  but  as  a  grain  of  sand  on  the  seashore,  com- 
pared with  the  measureless  expanse  of  divine  effulgence 
which  it  would  require  an  eternity  to  contemplate,  though 
ever  progressing  from  one  stage  of  happiness  to  another, 
ever  opening  on  new  fields  of  knowledge,  ever  going  from 
the  surprise  of  before-unseen  excellence  to  yet  brighter 
views ;  passing  on  thus,  from  stage  to  stage,  through  an  eter- 
nity of  beatitude.  The  loves  of  earth  seemed  developed 
into  ethereal  realization ;  and  even  then,  before  its  object  had 
yet  left  the  earth,  he  seemed  to  be  quickened,  thrilled,  and 
intensely  electrified  by  the  presence  of  that  love,  which,  in 
life,  he  had  thought  lost  and  fatal.  All  had  served  to  quicken, 
strengthen,  and  intensify  the  great  joy  and  boundless  rapture 
of  eternity ;  and  he  blessed  the  good  Being  who  had  made 
him  for  the  adversities  he  had  endured. 

How  long  he  continued  in  this  illusion  or  revery  he  had 
no  idea :  it  might  have  been  moments  or  ages.  Time,  with 
the  things  of  earth,  had  been  left  behind. 

Riley,  after  having  left  the  jail,  went  to  his  own  house ;  but, 
as  might  naturally  be  supposed  of  a  man  who  had  just  com- 
mitted murder,  he  was  restless,  and  unable  to  sleep,  though 
he  took  several  large  glasses  of  raw  whiskey  as  a  sleep- 
compelling  sedative.  He  lay  tossing  in  his  bed  for  an  hour, 
and  then  rose  and  dressed  himself,  and  again  went  forth 
into  the  street.  Against  his  will,  he  was  impelled  to  stray 
down  in  the  direction  of  the  jail.  The  night  was  dark  and 
still ;  and  he  approached,  thinking  to  listen,  and  satisfy  himself 
that  all  was  progressing  favorably.  He  drew  near  to  the 
main  door,  and  applied  his  ear  to  the  keyhole.  Nothing 
could  be  heard  but  the  heavy  snoring  of  old  Mose,  the 
negro  whose  business  it  was  to  keep  the  jail  in  order.  He 
passed  round  the  corner  of  the  jail  to  reach  Walter's  window; 
but,  just  as  he  drew  near,  a  figure  in  white  jumped  up,  and 

vol.  ii.  25 


290  GOMERY   OP  MONTGOMERY: 

gave  a  slight,  faint  cry,  and  fled  into  the  darkness.  But  it 
did  not  fly  half  as  fast  in  one  direction  as  Riley  did  in  the 
other.  The  first  glimpse  was  enough  for  him.  He  did  not 
doubt  that  it  was  a  veritable  ghost ;  and,  dark  as  it  was,  he 
could  not  have  made  more  direct  nor  half  as  rapid  tracks  to 
his  own  room,  had  it  been  broad  daylight,  and  his  own  dogs, 
like  Actaeon's,  in  pursuit.  He  entered  his  room,  but  was 
so  agitated,  he  could  scarcely  lock  his  door;  and  he  dared  not 
strike  a  light,  for  fear  it  should  betray  him  to  the  ghost  or 
devil,  or  whatever  it  might  be,  that  he  was  now  persuaded 
had  come  for  him.  To  add  to  his  griefs,  in  feeling  for  his 
whiskey-bottle  in  the  dark,  he  had  knocked  it  from  the  table, 
and  broken  it,  with  a  noise  that  made  him  shudder;  for  it 
smote  him  as  if  it  had  been  the  Devil's  own  knock,  and  an 
inexorable  summons  to  follow  him.  His  only  retreat  was 
to  jump  into  his  bed  with  his  clothes  on,  hide  his  head  be- 
neath the  coverlid,  and  shudderingly  await  the  approach 
of  daylight.  It  is  supposed  that  the  night  was  long  to  the 
unfortunate  traveller  who  stumbled  over  a  precipice,  and 
saved  himself  from  instant  destruction  by  catching  hold  of  a 
root,  or  cord,  at  the  end  of  which  he  dangled,  not  doubting, 
that,  if  he  let  go,  he  would  be  dashed  in  pieces  hundreds  of 
feet  below.  But  it  was  hardly  longer  than  the  night  was  to 
cock-eyed  Riley,  as  he  lay  crouching  and  shivering  in  his  bed. 
But  to  both  the  light  at  last  came.  To  one  it  revealed  the 
smooth,  level  ground,  but  two  inches  from  his  feet ;  and  to 
the  other  the  scarcely  less  joyful  fact,  that  the  bottle  which 
fell  from  the  table  the  night  before  with  such  an  appalling 
crash  was  not  the  whiskey-bottle  after  all,  and  that  that 
great  solace  still  stood  unharmed  on  the  table,  with  a  good 
half-pint  of  the  pure  juice  of  the  corn.  He  jumped  up,  poured 
this  into  a  dirty  glass,  swallowed  it,  and  felt  greatly  com- 
forted. 

As  soon  as  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  began  to  strike  across 
the  country,  and  play  among  the  tops  of  the  trees,  Riley 
called  out  to  his  own  personal  servant  to  go  down  to  the 
jail,  and  tell  Iverson  to  send  up  his  overcoat,  that  he  had 
left  in  the  cell  of  that  Yankee.  The  negro  departed  with  the 
message,  taking  the  key  of  Walter's  cell,  which  he  delivered 
to  the  jailer. 

Iverson  unlocked  and  pushed  open  the  door  of  Walter's 
room,  and  started  back  aghast.     There  lay  the  prisoner  on 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  291 

his  cot,  to  all  appearance  dead.  His  limbs  were  rigid,  his 
eyes  closed,  and  the  breathing  had  ceased.  He  ordered 
Riley's  servant  to  return  at  once,  and  inform  his  master  that 
the  Yankee  was  dead,  and  to  come  down  quick.  Old  Mose 
stood  looking  on  agape,  at  first  unable  to  utter  a  word. 
Then  he  so  far  recovered  his  self-possession,  that  he  said,  "I 
knowed  it,  I  knowed  it,  I  knowed  it!  I  heard  de  angels 
calling,  l  Walter,  Walter ! '  in  de  night." 

The  messenger  with  the  news,  more  scared  than  the  jailer, 
rushed  up  towards  the  hotel,  where,  by  this  time,  some  half- 
dozen  were  assembled,  including  Riley,  Col.  Singleton,  and 
Dr.  Lancy.  "  He's  dead,  he's  dead !  —  dat  ar  Yankee ! "  he 
exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he  could  catch  his  breath  sufficiently  to 
speak. 

"Dead!"  said  Lancy  in  well-affected  surprise.  "What 
does  that  mean? "  At  once,  they  all  began  moving  towards 
the  jail;  Riley  being  in  advance,  having  good  reasons  for 
wishing  to  enter  first. 

They  found  the  prisoner  as  before  described.  Dr.  Lancy 
examined  him  with  dainty  fingers,  as  if  he  feared  infection, 
to  see  if  he  were  indeed  dead.  There  was  no  pulse;  and,  on 
raising  his  eyelid,  it  fell  back  into  its  place  again  with  no 
signs  of  muscular  contraction.  They  then  looked  about  the 
room  to  see  if  there  were  any  signs  of  his  having  committed 
suicide.  At  first,  they  could  discover  nothing;  but  Riley, 
lifting  up  the  end  of  the  old  mattress  on  which  the  lifeless 
man  lay,  drew  forth  an  ounce  vial,  nearly  empty,  labelled 
"Laudanum,  poison."  He  had  put  it  there  the  night  be- 
fore, unobserved  by  Walter ;  and,  on  finding  it,  evinced  more 
surprise  than  all  the  rest. 

"The  knave  has  cheated  the  gallows,"  said  Singleton. 
"It  is  just  like  these  mean  Yankees:  they  must  always  be 
cheating  somebody !  He  couldn't  even  die  without  cheating 
the  hangman.  It  is  an  illustration  of  the  old  saying,  '  The 
ruling  passion  strong  in  death.' " 

"  Likely's  not  he  is  playing  possum,  and  ain't  dead  after 
all,"  said  the  overseer  of  Singleton,  who  had  come  in  with 
his  master.     "I  never  seed  a  dead  man  look  like  that  before." 

Dr.  Lancy  again  looked  at  the  body.  "  It  has  a  singular 
appearance,"  said  he,  "sure  enough.  Is  there  a  looking-glass 
in  the  prison  ?  Let  me  see  if  there  is  any  breath  left  in  his 
ungodly  carcass." 


292  GOMEEY   OF    MONTGOMERY  ! 

"There  is  no  glass  in  the  jail,  except  that  big  one  in  my 
room,  that  is  all  cracked,"  answered  the  jailer. 

"Has  any  one  a  bowie-knife  with  him?" 

Several  drew  forth  their  shining  blades. 

The  doctor  took  the  newest  and  brightest,  and  wiped  its 
glittering  surface  on  his  handkerchief,  and  held  it  to  the 
lips  of  the  subject.  Its  bright  polish  was  not  in  the  least 
dimmed.     There  was  no  breath  to  dim  it. 

"He  is  dead  enough,"  said  the  doctor;  "at  least,  dead 
enough  to  bury." 

"  If  he  ain't  dead,"  said  Riley,  "  we'll  take  care  he  don't 
dig  out." 

"  Get  a  box,  Iverson,"  said  Singleton,  "  and  have  him  buried 
in  the  burying-ground  for  free  niggers." 

"Aren't  there  to  be  no  funeral,  no  nothing?" 

"No:  he  lived  like  a  dog,  he  died  like  a  dog,  and  let  him 
be  buried  like  a  dog ! " 

The  party  of  gentlemen  then  left  the  jail,  leaving  Iverson 
and  old  Mose  alone  with  the  dead. 

Old  Mose  was  a  well-known  character  about  Lancaster. 
Though  a  full-blood  African,  he  was  by  birth  a  subject  of 
Great  Britain,  and  had  first  come  to  Georgia  a  cook  on 
board  of  an  English  vessel.  But,  unfortunately,  he  was,  one 
night,  surrounded  by  a  conclave  of  colored  people,  read- 
ing and  expounding  the  Bible.  For  this  offence  against  the 
laws  of  Georgia,  he  was  put  in  prison ;  and,  for  some  un- 
explained cause,  his  vessel  went  off,  and  left  him  there.  Had 
he  been  a  native  African,  or  a  native  of  the  United  States, 
he  would  probably  have  been  sold  off  for  jail-fees  after  a  few 
months'  detention.  But,  as  it  was,  he  remained  in  prison  two 
years,  and  was  at  last  so  far  liberated  as  to  be  made  a  sort  of 
scavenger  about  the  jail,  being  allowed  to  go  out  and  travel 
about  the  town ;  having,  in  fact,  more  privileges  than  most 
free  negroes.  In  this  way  he  was  regarded  as  a  slave,  though 
nobody  owned  him;  and  in  this  capacity  he  remained  for 
more  than  twenty  years,  till  his  kinky  hair  became  as  white 
as  snow,  and  his  big  horn  spectacles  were  as  familiar  to  the 
residents  of  Lancaster  as  the  county  court-house. 

"  Mose,"  said  Iverson,  after  the  party  had  withdrawn,  "  go 
and  get  a  box  for  that  carrin ! " 

"  Massa,  he  aren't  no  carrin :  he's  an  angel." 

"  One  of  the  Devil's  angels,  then." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  293 

"No,  massa;  an  angel  of  lub  and  truf.  I  heard  anoder 
angel  a'  callin'  him  in  the  night.  Look  a  dar!  you  nebber 
see  bad  man  die,  and  hab  such  smiling,  lubly  face.  I  'spect 
ebery  moment  to  see  him  bust  out  wid  de  song  ob  de  Re- 
deemer, and  see  him  go  up  like  ole  'Lijah." 

Iverson  looked  at  the  upturned  face :  there  was  certainly 
something  unusual,  something  startling,  in  its  appearance. 
The  hard  man  recoiled;  a  shudder  passed  through  his  frame; 
and  he  turned  away  from  the  motionless  clay,  saying  with 
forced  sternness,  "Go,  go,  and  do  as  I  bid  you!  Get  a  box 
for  the  body,  and  send  lame  Pete  out  to  the  Black  Patch 
near  the  bluff  to  dig  a  hole." 

"O  Lord!"  said  Mose,  casting  up  his  eyes.  "To  bury 
a  angel  wid  de  free  niggers  an'  poor  white  trash !  I  'spect  a 
resurrection." 

The  old  man  turned  away,  and  left  the  prison ;  but  he 
could  not  believe  the  man  to  be  buried  was  dead.  He  did 
not  look  like  a  dead  man  ;  and  yet  there  were  no  signs  of 
life.  "I  reckon  dey  won't  get  him  under  ground  dis  day, 
if  old  Mose  has  any  ting  to  do  wid  it,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  find  lame  Pete  to  tell 
him  what  was  to  be  done.  "It's  a  bery  sad  business,  Pete," 
said  he ;  "and  I'm  afeard  you'll  feel  very  low  in  de  mouf. 
But  'ere  is  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  for  your  'couragement." 

Pete  took  the  money,  and  limped  off,  with  pick  and 
shovel,  to  dig  the  grave ;  but,  as  Mose  intended  he  should 
do,  he  stopped  at  a  house  where  lived  a  miserable  character, 
who  supported  himself  by  buying  stolen  goods  from  the 
negroes,  and  selling  them  contraband  whiskey.  The  silver 
piece  was  exchanged  for  a  quart  of  the  juice  of  the  corn ;  and 
Pete  went  his  way  rejoicing,  and  began  his  work  in  great 
glee:  but,  before  he  had  digged  the  grave  a  foot  deep,  he  was 
too  drunk  to  go  on  with  his  work,  and  lay  down  on  the  grass 
and  fell  asleep,  and  only  woke  up  when  the  effect  of  one  swig 
had  passed  off;  and  then  he  would  take  another,  and  fall  into 
the  same  state  of  sleep,  or  stupor,  as  before. 

Mose,  too,  was  delinquent ;  for  he  could  find  nothing  for 
a  long  time  to  make  a  box  of  to  serve  for  a  coffin.  He  was 
obliged  to  search  through  the  entire  village  before  he  could 
make  a  satisfactory  bargain  for  the  lumber.  One  man,  living 
in  the  other  extreme  of  the  town,  had  lumber  to  sell;  but 

25* 


294  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY: 

Mose  feared  his  price  was  too  high  :  so  he  returned  for  further 
instructions,  contriving  in  this  way  to  use  up  a  couple  of 
hours.  Then  he  managed  to  spend  a  long  time  more  before 
he  got  it  to  the  carpenter's;  and  purposely  left  one  board,  so 
as  to  occasion  more  delay.  The  result  of  all  this  management 
was,  that  the  box  did  not  get  to  the  prison  till  near  sunset. 
Then  Mose  sent  a  boy  to  the  Black  Patch  to  see  if  the 
grave  was  dug  and  ready.  The  word  came  back  that  it  was 
not  a  foot  deep,  and  lame  Pete  was  lying  drunk  beside  it. 

Iverson  was  very  much  enraged  at  the  delay.  He  was 
superstitious  and  ignorant;  and,  during  the  day,  it  was  mys- 
teriously hinted  that  a  ghost  had  been  seen  about  the  neigh- 
borhood for  several  nights  past.  He  inquired  of  old  Mose 
about  it ;  and  Mose  said  it  was  no  ghost,  but  an  angel ;  for 
he  had  heard  it  in  the  night,  calling  "  Walter,  Walter!"  in  a 
voice  just  like  an  angel's.  He  said, "  De  todder  niggers  say  it 
are  a  ghost ;  but  dey  is  ignorant  darkeys,  and  don't  know  de 
diff 'rence."  But,  whatever  it  was,  Mose  admitted  it  had  been 
seen  for  three  nights  past,  flitting  round  the  jail,  and  always 
running  off,  when  observed,  to  the  woods  just  beyond  the  Black 
Patch,  as  the  burying-ground  of  the  free  negroes  and  white 
trash  was  called.  It  had  been  proposed  during  the  day  to  Riley 
that  he  should  turn  out  with  his  dogs,  and  hunt  this  unknown 
visitant;  but  he  had  received  such  a  fright  from  it  himself, 
that  he  said  his  dogs  were  sick.  Iverson  was  in  a  sad  plight, 
and  knew  not  what  to  do.  He  did  not  like  the  idea  of  sleep- 
ing another  night  under  the  same  roof  with  the  dead  man; 
and  he  was  ashamed  to  betray  his  fears.  The  unusual  ap- 
pearance of  the  body,  combined  with  the  reports  of  the 
mysterious  figure  that  had  been  seen  floating  about,  as  the 
negroes  said,  without  touching  the  earth,  had  so  wrought  on 
his  credulous  and  benighted  mind,  that  he  was  in  grievous 
perplexity.  But  the  night  was  now  upon  him,  and  there  was 
no  help  for  him.  As  a  sort  of  body-guard,  therefore,  he  told 
old  Mose  to  bring  his  bed  of  rags  into  his  room,  and  sleep 
on  the  floor  there,  instead  of  in  the  entry  of  the  jail,  as  was 
his  custom.  The  veteran  obeyed  the  order ;  but,  even  with 
that  precaution  for  mutual  protection,  it  was  little  that  either 
slept.  Mose  did  not  believe  that  the  man  in  the  other  room 
was  dead,  and  he  greatly  doubted  whether  he  was  a  man  at 
all ;  and,  as  he  lay  on  the  floor,  he  speculated  deeply  on  the 
character  of  the  strange  being,  whose  conduct  had  been  so 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  295 

different  from  that  of  all  men  who  had  lived  since  the  age  of 
miracles.  "Fact  is,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "I'spect'tis 
an oder  Moses,  come  to  lead  the  chil'en  of  de  Lord  out  from 
dis  land  o'  bondage.  Den  dar's  two  Moseses,  me  and  t'other ; 
an'  de  Lord  no  hab  two  Moseses.  No :  it's  Aaron,  and  I  is  de 
Moses." 

"  What  are  you  jabbering  about  there,  Mose,"  said  Iver- 
son. 

"I'se  'specting  a  miracle  in  the  morning.  Dat  man  is  de 
Aaron  de  Lord  has  sent  to  jine  with  me ;  dat  is,  Moses, 
to  lead  our  people  out  of  de  land  o'  bondage." 

"Reckon  you'll  find  cock-eyed  Riley  hard  arter  you,  if 
you  try  that,"  said  Iverson. 

"  I  reckon  you'd  better  not  try  to  foller  us,  if  you  don't 
want  to  be  cotched  up  in  the  deep  water  like  Pharaoh  and 
his  hosts  was." 

"Why,  how  was  that?" 

"  They  was  all  drownded  in  the  Red  Sea." 

Iverson  shuddered,  and  told  Mose  to  hold  his  tongue  ;  and 
then,  pulling  the  bed-clothes  over  his  head,  he  tried  to  sleep. 
But  sleep  he  couldn't.  He  lay  tossing  on  his  bed;  and 
about  midnight  he  fancied  he  heard  the  strange,  soft,  gentle 
voice  calling  "  Walter ! " 

"  Mose,"  said  he,  "  did  you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  Sartain  I  did.  It  is  de  angel,  —  same  as  I  heard  it  last 
night."  But,  angel  or  not,  the  sound  of  their  voices  seemed 
to  have  frightened  it  away ;  and  they  heard  no  more  of  it. 
But  so  frightened  was  Iverson,  that  every  few  minutes  he 
called  out  to  Mose,  as  if  fearing  he  was  asleep,  and  not  pro- 
tecting him,  or  angry  that  he  should  sleep  while  his  master 
could  not. 

At  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Mose  said  he  thought 
he  heard  a  noise  in  the  dead  man's  cell. 

"  Rats,"  said  Iverson. 

"  No,  it's  not  rats.    P'raps  it's  de  angels  come  to  take  him." 

"  Angels  !  Devils,  more  like.  How  are  the  angels  going 
to  take  him  ?  " 

"  P'raps  on  a  sea  of  glass  like  what  the  Millerites  brag  on. 
P'raps  ole  Jacob  will  let  down  his  ladder.  Then,  agin,  p'raps 
he'll  go  up  like  ole  'Lijah.  Thar !  I  heerd  a  noise  agin.  It 
was  a  voice !  " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  miser'ble  nigger !     Why  didn't 


296  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY. 

you  bury  him  yesterday?  I'll  have  you  flogged  to-mor- 
row ! "  With  this  threat,  Iverson  drew  his  head  under  the 
bed-clothes,  and  sought  to  keep  out  all  unwelcome  sounds ; 
and  Mose  lay,  with  his  ears  all  open,  intently  listening  for 
other  sounds. 

As  soon  as  it  was  daylight,  Mose  got  up ;  and  the  jailer, 
who  was  still  awake,  told  him  to  take  the  key,  and  unlock  the 
door  of  the  dead  prisoner's  cell ;  for,  after  he  was  supposed 
to  be  dead,  it  was  thought  that  Iverson  might  be  trusted 
with  the  key  of  his  room.  The  order  was  obeyed  with 
hesitation  by  the  old  negro,  who  slowly  unlocked  the  door, 
and  looked  cautiously  in,  suspecting  and  hoping  to  find  the 
room  vacant.  But  there  lay  the  body  as  it  had  lain  the 
day  before.  He  approached  to  scrutinize  the  face,  and 
rushed,  horror-stricken,  from  the  room.  "  O  Massa  Iverson, 
he's  alive,  he's  alive !     I  seen  him  wink !  " 

"  You  silly  old  fool ! "  said  Iverson,  jumping  out  of  bed, 
and  catching  his  pantaloons  in  his  hand :  "  how  can  a  dead 
man  wink?" 

But  the  voice  of  the  supposed  dead,  speaking  just  so  as  to 
be  heard,  but  too  faint  for  the  words  to  be  distinguished,  was 
sufficient  to  dispel  all  the  jailer's  doubts,  and  send  him  from 
the  jail,  pantaloons  in  hand,  as  if  a  spirit  with  a  cloven  foot 
and  fiery  tail  had  risen  through  the  floor  before  him.  He 
rushed  up  through  the  street  with  his  toilet  thus  incomplete, 
and  did  not  stop  till  he  had  entered  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel, 
where  an  old  slave  was  just  sweeping  up  the  "old  sogers"  of 
the  night  before.  "He  ain't  dead!"  said  he  in  breathless 
haste. 

"  Who  ain't  dead  ?  " 

"  That  Yankee  that  stole  the  niggers.  He's  come  to  life 
agin ! "  The  sweeper  dropped  his  broom,  and  ran  out  to  tell 
the  news ;  and  Iverson,  happening  just  then  to  catch  a  sight  of 
himself  in  the  glass,  drew  on  his  pantaloons.  The  landlord,  at 
that  moment,  came  in  to  get  his  morning  dram,  and,  seeing 
Iverson  still  half  dressed  and  barefoot,  inquired  the  cause  of 
this  early  visit. 

"  He  ain't  dead,  after  all ;  and  he's  come  to  life  again  ! " 

"Who  ain't  dead?" 

"  Why,  that  Yankee  that  pisened  himself." 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing !  He  was  only  in  a  stupor.  Why 
didn't  the  fools  make  sure,  and  bury  him  yesterday  ?  " 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  297 

"  O  Lord,  Lord !  I'll  never  have  any  thing  more  to  do 
with  that  man." 

Early  as  it  was,  the  news  soon  spread  through  the  village 
that  the  dead  man  was  alive  again ;  and,  just  as  the  sun  was 
arising,  at  least  a  dozen  men  could  have  been  seen  hurrying 
towards  the  jail.  They  entered,  and  found  the  man  had  not 
moved,  though  he  was  breathing  gently,  and  winking  as 
usual. 

"  I  can't  move  my  limbs,  doctor,"  said  he  to  Lancy,  who 
was  one  of  the  first  to  enter,  and  approach  his  bedside.  "  I 
seem  to  have  been  in  a  kind  of  trance  ;  for  I  have  had  the 
strangest  visions  ever  seen  by  man.  But  I  can't  move  my 
limbs.    Just  lift  up  my  hands,  if  you  please." 

The  doctor  complied ;  and  the  movement  seemed  to  restore 
the  muscles  and  the  nerves  to  the  power  of  the  will.  He 
raised  his  head,  and  looked  round  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  it's  all  a  dream,  then,"  said  he.  "  I  thought  I  had 
left  the  world.     What  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  little  after  sunrise." 

"  What !  all  that  in  one  night  ?  " 

Iverson  was  about  to  tell  him  that  he  had  been  two  nights 
and  one  day  in  his  trance ;  but  he  was  motioned  to  silence, 
and,  at  an  intimation  from  Lancy,  they  all  left  the  room. 

The  Committee  of  Public  Safety  met  again  that  morning 
at  ten  o'clock.  Riley  was  called  in  ;  and  the  subject  of  get- 
ting rid  of  their  prisoner  was  again  discussed,  and  with  more 
anxiety  than  ever.  The  danger  was  now  increased  a  hun- 
dred-fold. The  slaves,  far  and  near,  had  all  heard,  or  would 
hear  within  twenty-four  hours,  that  the  man  who  had  proved 
himself  so  great  a  deliverer,  and  whom  before  they  had  al- 
most worshipped  as  a  god,  had  actually  risen  from  the  dead. 

No  time  must  now  be  lost.  The  patrols  of  the  town  must 
be  doubled,  and  the  negroes  on  the  plantations  more  closely 
watched  than  ever  ;  and  with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  with- 
out exciting  suspicion  of  foul  play,  the  cause  of  all  this  anx- 
iety must  be  put  of  the  way.  It  was  decided  that  Riley 
should  resume  his  office  of  watchman  that  night,  and  must 
find  some  way  to  make  an  end  of  the  prisoner.  He  was  to 
try  the  beer  experiment  a  second  time ;  and  if  the  victim 
proved  suspicious,  or  refused  to  drink  the  prepared  chalice, 
then  he  was  to  be  despatched  with  a  knife  or  pistol-ball,  and 


298  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY  : 

the  pretence  made  that  he  had  been  killed  in  an  attempt  to 
escape. 

During  the  day,  Walter  lay  in  that  sort  of  half-stupor 
that  would  naturally  result  from  re-action  after  the  joyous 
delirium  which  he  had  experienced.  He  talked  little ; 
though  Iverson  and  Mose,  and  several  others,  often  favored 
him  with  their  company  in  the  course  of  the  day.  He  sus- 
pected nothing  of  the  attempt  that  had  been  made  on  his 
life.  Towards  night,  the  stupor  seemed  to  pass  off;  and  he 
signified  to  Iverson  that  he  was  hungry.  A  more  bountiful 
repast  was  furnished  him  than  he  had  yet  seen  since  he  had 
been  a  prisoner ;  and  he  ate  unsuspectingly  and  with  relish. 
A  mug  of  beer,  which  had  been  charged  with  a  dose  of 
morphine  three  times  as  powerful  as  that  of  the  preceding 
night,  was  sent  to  him  with  his  food.  Riley  remained  in  his 
room  until  his  meal  had  been  eaten,  to  satisfy  himself  that 
the  prepared  dose  had  gone  home  to  its  victim,  and  to 
guard,  lest,  if  any  were  not  taken  by  the  prisoner,  it  should 
be  used  so  as  to  destroy  valuable  human  property.  But  it 
was  all  drunk  by  Walter,  who  soon  after  warmed  into  con- 
versation, and  talked  so  rapturously  of  visions  opening  to 
his  view,  that  Riley  was  afraid  to  stay  with  him  alone,  but 
called  in  Iverson  and  Mose  to  sustain  and  defend  him  if 
necessary.  But  the  "leprous  distilment "  coursed  its  way 
through  the  natural  gates  and  alleys  of  the  body  with  such 
rapidity,  that  the  prisoner's  words  soon  became  confused  and 
incoherent.  Then,  lying  down  on  his  low  bed,  and  saying, 
"It  is  time,  the  world  is  going,  it  is  left,  and  oh  how 
bright  and  joyous!"  he  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  again  on 
the  broad  sea  of  infinite  love  that  makes  up  the  universe  of 
God. 


A   FAMILY    HISTOET.  299 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"  I  guess  'twas  frightful  there  to  see 
A  lady  so  richly  clad  as  she, 
Beautiful  exceedingly."  —  Coleridge. 

*'  A  lady  wondrous  fair; 
But  the  rose  of  her  cheek  had  faded  away, 
And  her  cheek  was  as  white  and  cold  as  clay, 
And  torn  was  her  raven  hair."  —  Praed. 

That  Death  had  done  his  work  was  but  too  evident  when 
the  door  of  Walter's  room  was  opened  the  next  morning. 
There  was  none  of  that  undeath-like  appearance  of  a  seem- 
ing lifeless  body  as  was  observed  two  mornings  before.     He 
was  clearly  dead.     Even  old  Mose  said  he  was  dead  now, 
sure  enough.    Nevertheless,  those  who  had  murdered  him 
felt  a  strange   misgiving,  as  if  fearing  lest  he  should   rise 
again  ;  and  the  orders  were  given  to  bury  him  immediately. 
Several   slaves  were  sent  to  the  Black  Patch  to  complete 
what   lame   Pete   had   begun,  and  a  flogging  promised  to 
them  all  if  the  grave  was  not  finished  by  ten  o'clock.     The 
rough  box  was  hastily  knocked  together,  and  received  its 
tenant;  an  old  cart,  drawn  by  two  scare-crow  mules,  was 
driven  up  to  the  jail,  and  received  its  load ;    and  Iverson 
and  old  Mose  followed  it  to  the  Black  Patch,  where  it  was 
lowered  into  the  grave,  and  the  dirt  shovelled  hastily  upon  it. 
Iverson  witnessed  with  silent  terror  the  stern,  sad  faces  of 
the  negroes.     On  ordinary  occasions  of  grave-digging  and 
burial,  they  were  accustomed  to  laugh  as  loudly,  and  joke  as 
freely,  as  those  grave-makers  who  jested  with  Hamlet  when 
digging  Ophelia's  grave.    But  now  they  said  nothing,  silently 
working  away  till  the  grave  was  filled,  and  rounded  on  the 
top,  when  they  walked  quietly  away,  each  going  off  by  him- 
self, as  if  he  had  too  great  a  grief  at  his  heart  to  care  for 
condolence  or  sympathy. 

A  death-like  stillness  prevailed  through  the  town  during 
the  day.     Towards  evening,  however,  an  unusual  number 


300  gomery  oe  Montgomery: 

assembled  about  the  hotel ;  and,  as  they  fortified  themselves 
with  whiskey,  they  waxed  valiant  and  noisy  and  communica- 
tive. It  was  now  in  the  early  part  of  December,  and  the 
nights  were  of  course  cool ;  and,  as  the  darkness  closed 
around,  the  people  gathered  into  the  bar-room,  which  was 
warmed  by  a  wood-fire,  and  lighted  with  numerous  tal- 
low dips.  Among  the  company  appeared  a  man  whom  no 
one  seemed  to  know.  He  was  an  elderly  person,  evidently 
a  seafaring  man ;  of  stout  build,  enormously  broad  shoul- 
ders, and  with  a  broken,  indescribable  nose.  He  was  the 
most  talkative  of  the  whole  company,  and  was  ready  to 
drink  with  every  one.  He  sat  down  by  a  table  at  one  side 
of  the  room;  and  then,  pulling  out  a  handful  of  gold  coin, 
laid  it  down  before  him,  and  called  out,  — 

"Landlord,  landlord!  do  you  see  that?" 

"  I  see  it,"  replied  Boniface,  "  and  would  like  to  put  it  in 
my  own  pocket." 

"  Well,  then,  treat  all  these  gentlemen  at  my  expense,  — 
good  whiskey,  pure  French  brandy,  port  wine,  —  the  best 
you  have  got." 

The  landlord  complied,  and  set  before  him  various  decan- 
ters, and  all  the  glasses  in  his  miserable  tavern,  consisting 
of  six  that  were  whole  and  two  that  were  cracked;  and 
then  the  stranger  bade  all  to  help  themselves,  which  they 
were  not  slow  to  do. 

Such  a  dispenser  of  liquors  could  not  fail  to  have  a  crowd 
of  admirers  round  him  directly,  all  of  whom  were  curious 
to  know  who  this  singular  stranger  could  possibly  be.  He 
soon  set  their  minds  at  rest  on  that  score,  however,  by  telling 
them  he  was  a  slave-trader,  and  was  going  up  through  Caro- 
lina and  Virginia  to  buy  up  a  gang  of  slaves  to  take  to 
Texas ;  that  he  wanted  to  buy  them  in  different  places, 
where  he  could  make  good  bargains  as  he  went  through ; 
and  should  return,  and  pick  up  his  scattering  purchases  a 
month  or  two  later. 

"  You  have  come  to  a  bad  place  here,"  said  Riley,  "  to  buy 
hands  ;  for  more'n  a  hundred  of  our  niggers  run  off  about  two 
months  ago,  and  nary  one  of  'em  was  ever  cotched.  Dogs 
was  worth  nothin'." 

"  Why,  how  was  that  ?  " 

"  You  see,  thar  was  a  Yankee  schoolmaster  here,  a  regular 
infidel  and  abolitionist,  and  he  set  'em  on  to  it ;  and  they  got 


A   FAMILY   HISTORY.  301 

off  on  a  schooner,  and  he  smashed  up  the  steamer  that  went 
after  them,  so  we  couldn't  catch  'em.  You  must  have  read 
about  it  in  the  papers." 

"  'Pears  to  me  I  did  hear  suthin'  of  it,"  said  the  stranger, 
whom  the  reader  must  know  is  Joe  Pumpagin  :  "  but  the  fact 
is,  I  was  born  and  fotched  up  in  Mississip,  and  don't  know 
how  to  read ;  but,  as  a  judge  of  niggers  and  mules,  I'll  turn 
my  back  to  no  man.  But  what  did  you  do  with  that  Yankee  ? 
He  did  not  get  away  with  the  niggers,  did  he?" 

"  Nary  time.  We  cotched  him,  and  had  him  in  jail  more'n 
a  month;  and  he  pisened  himself  last  night,  and  was  buried 
among  the  free  niggers  this  morning." 

The  start  that  this  information  gave  Joe  must  have  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  crowd,  had  not  their  free  pota- 
tions already  obfuscated  their  wits.  But  he  recovered  him- 
self on  the  instant,  and  said,  "  We  don't  give  'em  time  to  do 
that  down  our  way.  We  just  catch  'em,  and  hang  'em  the 
same  day  when  we  find  'em  fooling  with  our  niggers.  But 
tell  me  all  about  this  business." 

Riley  then  began  a  narrative  of  the  atrocious  acts  of  the 
man  whom  he  said  they  had  "  planted "  that  morning,  in 
which  office  he  was  assisted  by  several  others  more  drunk 
than  he,  who  supplied  oaths  and  opprobrious  adjectives  when- 
ever he  left  an  opening  for  their  application.  His  story  was 
in  substance  the  same  as  that  which  had  been  promulgated 
through  the  Southern  newspapers,  with  which  Joe  was  already 
familiar.  It  was  only  when  the  manner  of  Walter's  death 
was  approached  that  he  became  curious  and  inquisitive. 
Riley  detailed  with  great  particularity  the  circumstances  of 
Ins  long  trance,  and  related  how  he  had  himself  found  the 
vial,  marked  "Laudanum,"  under  his  pillow.  Others  here 
broke  in  to  tell  about  the  ghost  that  had  been  seen  for  several 
nights  flitting  about  the  prison;  and  Riley  confessed  that 
he  had  seen  it  himself. 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  said  Joe. 

q  "Why,  you  see,  one  night  I  was  afeard  he  would  try  to  get 
out,  and  about  midnight  I  walked  down  to  see  if  all  was  safe; 
and  as  I  crept  along  towards  his  window,  as  sure  as  I  am  alive, 
I  seen  a  ghost,  or  a  woman,  or  something  in  white,  jump  up, 
and  fly  away  like  a  white  crane  across  a  swamp.  I  didn't 
think  much  of  it  at  the  time  ;  but,  when  I  heard  that  a  good 
many  others  had  seen  it,  I  knowed  it  was  a  ghost ;  and  old 

vol.  II.  26 


S02  GOMERY    OF   MONTGOMERY: 

Mose,  who  sleeps  in  the  jail,  says  he  heard  it  calling  out  in 
the  night:  but  as  soon  as  we  got  him  dead,  safe  dead  the 
second  time,  we  took  good  care  the  ghosts  should  not  bring 
him  to  life  again." 

"As  soon  as  you  got  him  dead  :  that  is  a  good  joke;  that 
is  the  way  we  serve  'em  in  Mississip." 

"No,  no!  I  mean  as  soon  as  he  took  pisen,  and  died." 

"Ah,  ah!  I  understand;  good  joke:  come,  come,  you  don't 
drink  any  thing.    Now  a  good  stiff  horn  all  round." 

Riley,  for  some  reason,  did  not  like  the  last  allusions  of  the 
queer-looking  stranger,  and  soon  left  the  company,  and  was 
followed  by  such  of  the  others  as  were  not  too  drunk  to  trust 
their  legs.  Joe  called  for  more  liquor,  and  soon  had  the  re- 
mainder of  the  company,  including  the  landlord,  too  drunk 
to  notice  his  departure.  He  then  left  the  room,  and  walked 
rapidly  down  towards  the  river,  below  the  town,  where  the 
"  Post-boy  "  had  been  moored  to  the  bank  since  seven  o'clock 
in  the  evening.  He  roused  his  mate  and  two  others,  and, 
aided  by  a  dark  lantern,  he  made  his  way  in  the  direction 
which  Riley  had  indicated  as  the  Black  Patch.  As  he 
passed  along  a  few  rods  in  advance  of  his  men,  he  saw  a 
decrepit  old  negro  moving  painfully  and  slowly  in  the  same 
direction.  He  approached  him  quickly,  and,  placing  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder,  said  sternly,  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  The 
old  slave  dropped  piteously  on  his  knees,  held  up  his  hands, 
and  began  to  beg  for  mercy.  "  Oh,  don't,  massa ;  don't !  I 
was  only  going  clown  to  the  Yankee's  grave." 

"Go  on,  then,"  said  Joe;  "show  me  the  way." 

The  old  man  limped  away ;  Joe  following  a  few  steps  behind 
him,  and  his  men  bringing  up  the  rear.  They  coursed  along 
the  outskirts  of  the  town  until  they  came  to  the  edge  of 
a  wood  consisting  of  magnolias,  black-oaks,  laurels,  and  syca- 
mores, underneath  which,  in  some  parts,  was  a  thick  under- 
growth, and  in  others  was  nothing  but  dead  leaves,  stray 
branches,  and  protruding  roots.  The  negro  slowly  and  pain- 
fully made  his  way  along  the  cart-road,  through  this  wood, 
until  he  came  to  an  opening  of  a  few  acres,  one  side  of  which 
bordered  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"  Is  this  the  Black  Patch  ?  "  asked  Joe. 

"Yes,  massa:  here's  whar  dey  bury  all  de  poor  niggers 
and  de  white  trash.  I  'spect  to  be  buried  here.  De  Yankee's 
grave  is  close  by." 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  303 

"What  is  that  moving  along  there?"  asked  Joe,  stopping, 
and  pointing  towards  a  moving  figure  that  flitted  rapidly 
away  among  the  trees. 

"  O  Lord,  massa !  dat  is  de  ghost  come  back  again ! " 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?"  said  Joe. 

"No,  massa." 

"I  am  Satan.  I  am  come  to  carry  away  the  dead  man; 
but  this  other  spirit  has  been  here  before  me;  and  now  I  am 
going  to  take  you.  But,  first,  I  will  make  terms  with  you. 
Go  home,  and  say  nothing  of  what  you  have  seen  to-night, 
and  I  will  resign  all  claim  to  you." 

Just  at  this  time,  Joe  let  a  flash  from  the  dark  lantern 
illumine  his  own  strange-looking  visage ;  and  the  old  man 
dropped,  half  frightened  to  death,  upon  his  knees.  "  O 
good  Mr.  Devil ! "  said  he,  "  please  let  me  go,  and  I'll  never 
peach  a  word  !  " 

"  Be  off,  then !  and  mind,  if  you  look  behind  you,  you  will 
be  struck  dead.  Mind,  now,  you  don't  tell  anybody  that  the 
Devil  was  outwitted,  and  had  his  journey  to  this  suburb  of 
his  dominions ;  for  then  they  will  set  up  a  rebellion  in»hell. 
Now,  off  with  yourself!  and  mind  you  don't  open  your  mouth 
for  one  week!" 

The  negro  needed  no  second  order ;  but,  as  fast  as  his  old, 
decrepit  limbs  could  carry  him,  he  hastened  back  through 
the  woods,  nor  cast  an  eye  behind  him  till  he  was  safe  within 
his  own  miserable  hovel. 

Joe  then  approached  the  mound  of  fresh  earth ;  and,  tell- 
ing his  companions  to  dig  as  for  dear  life,  he  struck  off  into 
the  woods,  in  the  direction  of  the  strange  figure.  He  soon 
caught  sight  of  it  again  ;  and  it  seemed  to  flit  from  behind 
one  large  tree  to  another  more  distant.  He  then  brought 
up  the  lantern,  and  opened  the  slide  that  shut  in  the  light, 
and  brought  it  in  front  of  him,  —  moving  it  so  as  to  reveal 
his  own  form  and  features.  Then,  seeing  the  figure  still 
moving,  he  called  out,  "Hester!"  It  stopped ;  but,  as  he 
advanced,  it  moved  away.  Then  he  stopped,  and  again 
called,  "Hester!"  Then  he  pronounced  his  own  name,  and 
the  figure  moved  a  few  steps^towards  him.  It  stopped  again, 
and  he  advanced  towards  it.  Again  it  receded ;  and  then 
he  held  the  lantern  before  him  to  give  him  the  advantage  of 
its  light,  and  ran  towards  it.  It  ran  into  a  thicket ;  but  its 
clothes  got  entangled  in  the  thorns  and  underbrush,  and  Joe 


304  GOMERY   OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

soon  overtook  it,  crouching  on  the  ground,  its  face  upturned 
towards  him.  He  held  the  light  to  get  a  view  of  the  up- 
turned features.  One  glance  was  sufficient:  the  face  was 
thin,  wild,  and  haggard ;  the  hair  dishevelled  ;  and  the  large 
blue  eyes,  that  he  remembered  as  so  beautiful  once,  now 
glared  from  their  sockets  with  that  unearthly,  haunting  look 
that  betrays  the  hopeless  maniac. 

"  Hester,"  said  Joe,  "  don't  you  remember  me,  —  Old  Joe, 
Joe  Pumpagin,  Walter's  friend  ?  " 

"Walter,  Walter,  Walter!"  said  she.  "Yes,  yes:  I'll  go 
and  find  him.  But  he  is  dead  :  I  saw  them  put  him  in  the 
ground.  I  only  asked  one  word.  He  gave  all  to  the  poor 
slave,  but  not  one  word  of  forgiveness  for  poor  Hester." 

"  Come,  then,  let  us  go,"  said  Joe,  taking  her  by  the  arm,  and 
raising  her  up.  She  offered  no  resistance,  but  suffered  her- 
self to  be  led  gently  along  till  they  came  to  the  grave,  where, 
by  this  time,  the  sailors  had  so  well  employed  their  time, 
that  they  had  dug  out  the  earth  from  above  the  rude  coffin, 
and  were  just  lifting  it  to  the  surface.  "Take  it  up,  and  fol- 
low we,"  said  Joe  to  the  two  sailors,  who  stood  awe-struck 
and  surprised  at  the  sight  of  the  dim  figure  which  they  saw 
at  the  skipper's  side.  They  obeyed  without  question ;  and 
Joe,  taking  the  spades  and  lantern  in  one  hand,  while  with 
the  other  he  firmly  held  Hester  by  the  wrist,  led  the  way 
to  the  river's  bank,  to  a  point  that  was  within  a  stone's-cast 
from  the  place  where  the  "  Post-boy  "  was  moored.  He  gave 
a  peculiar  whistle ;  and  directly  a  boat  put  off  to  the  shore, 
into  which  the  coffin  was  first  placed :  then  Joe  entered  it, 
tenderly  bearing  in  his  arms  the  frail  figure  that  had  so  alarmed 
his  companions,  holding  it  as  tenderly  as  ever  mother 
held  her  sick  child.  They  were  soon  aboard  the  schooner 
with  their  burden ;  and  the  order  was  given  to  cast  off,  and 
make  sail  without  delay.  A  strong  breeze  was  setting  sea- 
ward; and  the  moon,  that  always  shines  opportunely  for 
romancers  and  historians,  was  just  rising  sufficiently  to  reveal 
the  headlands;  and,  before  sunrise,  the  "Post-boy"  was  be- 
yond danger  of  pursuit. 

The  little  cabin  of  the  "  Post-boy  "  had  been  prepared  on 
the  outward  voyage  to  receive  a  passenger,  but  not  the  one 
who  now  claimed  the  attention  of  the  master.  Into  this 
the  night-wanderer  was  taken ;  and,  by  the  dim  lights  of 
the  vessel,  Joe  looked  upon  the  wretched  figure  that  lay  on 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  305 

the  cot  before  him.  The  emaciated  face,  with  dishevelled 
hair,  the  eyes  of  unnatural  lustre,  were  ever  turned  towards 
him  with  a  wild,  demented  look.  The  garments,  once  white, 
rich,  and  delicate,  were  soiled  and  damp ;  and  the  feet  had 
nothing  left  upon  them  but  the  dangling  remnants  of  shoes 
and  stockings.  The  soles  came  directly  upon  the  ground, 
and  were  bleeding,  blistered,  and  torn.  From  her  ears 
dangled  a  pair  of  finely  chased  gold  ear-rings,  —  the  gift  of 
Walter  when  she  was  a  little  girl ;  and  she  wore  a  diamond 
ring,  that  sparkled  in  the  light.  But  it  was  not  a  marriage- 
ring,  though  it  was  on  that  finger  where  the  marriage-ring 
had  once  been.  It  was  the  last  gift  from  Walter,  which  he 
put  upon  her  finger  the  evening  before  he  left  to  return  no 
more. 

Joe's  first  care  was  to  administer  a  powerful  sedative. 
Then,  drawing  off  the  fragments  of  the  once  delicate  shoes 
and  stockings,  he  brought  a  tub  of  warm  water,  and  gently 
washed  and  dried  the  poor  maniac's  feet,  and  drew  over  them 
a  pair  of  his  own  thick,  warm,  woollen  socks.  Then  he  left 
her  to  the  care  of  the  stewardess,  who  gently  removed  the 
other  damp  and  soiled  garments;  and,  having  supplied  her 
with  clean  linen  from  her  own  stock,  she  rolled  her  in  a  pair 
of  blankets;  and,  as  the  opiate  was  having  its  effect,  she  sat 
down  to  watch  her  as  she  slept. 

Anxiously  they  waited  for  the  morning  light.  Joe  Pumpa- 
gin  paced  from  stem  to  stern  the  deck  of  the  "  Post-boy," 
at  every  turn  stopping  to  contemplate  for  a  few  moments  the 
rough  box  that  contained  all  that  was  mortal  of  Walter 
Gomery,  and  occasionally  looking  into  the  cabin  to  make 
sure  that  his  charge  was  still  sleeping.  The  night  wore 
away;  and,  as  the  sun  rose  bright  and  red  before  them,  the 
gallant  little  "Post-boy"  skimmed  like  a  bird  before  the 
seaward  breeze. 

Great  was  the  consternation  at  Lancaster  the  next  day 
when  it  was  reported  that  the  body  of  the  twice-dead  and 
once-buried  Yankee  had  been  spirited  away.  A  supersti- 
tious fear  and  horror  possessed  the  minds  of  the  entire  peo- 
ple when  it  was  known  that  his  grave  had  been  invaded. 
Who  could  have  done  this?  At  first,  the  impression  was 
that  some  of  the  negroes  had  disinterred  him  in  order  to 
give  him  a  more  decent  and  Christian  burial.  But  the  ne- 
groes all,  within  many  miles,  had  been  carefully  guarded 


306  GOMERY  OP  MONTGOMERY  : 

during  the  last  month ;  and,  after  thorough  inquiry,  it  ap- 
peared that  not  a  slave  within  twenty  miles  had  been  out  of 
his  quarters  during  that  night.  The  old  negro  who  had  act- 
ed as  a  guide  to  Joe  was  regarded  as  too  old  and  lame  to 
need  watching,  and  therefore  no  guard  had  been  set  over 
him.  But  a  stronger  evidence  that  they  had  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  matter  was  the  undoubting  and  absolute  faith 
they  had  that  he  had  been  borne  away  by  supernatural 
means. 

What,  in  the  mean  time,  had  become  of  the  high-toned, 
free-handed,  queer-looking  stranger  who  had  dispensed  his 
gold-pieces  so  liberally  the  night  before?  He  was  gone ;  and 
nobody  knew  how  or  whence  be  came,  or  how  or  whither  he 
had  gone.  A  mysterious-looking  schooner  had  been  seen 
sailing  up  the  river  the  afternoon  before,  by  the  inhabitants 
living  near  the  bank.  The  Committee  of  Public  Safety 
again  met,  and,  after  long  and  anxious  deliberation,  concluded 
that  the  best  way  to  frighten  the  slaves  to  quiet  and  submis- 
sion was  to  assert  that  the  mysterious  stranger  was  none 
other  than  the  Devil,  who  had  come  and  taken  away  his  own. 
The  next  sabbath  evening,  Parson  Southside  preached  a  ser- 
mon on  this  theory,  especially  for  the  slaves,  to  which  many 
of  them  were  compelled  to  listen.  He  told  them,  that,  by 
divine  ordinance,  it  was  their  lot  to  be  slaves;  that  the 
Lord  had  directly  enjoined  it  upon  them  to  be  obedient  to 
their  masters ;  and  that  he  had  especially  shown  his  disappro- 
bation and  displeasure  towards  one  of  the  infidel  and  ungodly 
by  turning  him  over  to  Satan,  as  it  were,  before  their  eyes. 
But  the  poor  benighted  darkies  could  not  see  the  conduct 
of  the  man,  who  had  given  his  life  that  others  of  their  race 
might  escape  from  slavery,  in  the  same  light  as  the  learned 
pastor.  If  he  had  gone  to  the  bad  place,  and  such  as  Parson 
Southside  and  cock-eyed  Riley  were  going  to  the  land  of  the 
saints,  then  they  thought  they  might  as  well  follow  their 
proved  friend  and  deliverer;  for,  if  the  doctrine  preached  to 
them  was  true,  they  felt  they  would  be  sure  of  better  com- 
pany and  better  treatment  with  the  Devil  and  his  angels  than 
with  the  Lord  and  his  saints. 

But,  a  few  days  after,  old  Congo  told  his  story  of  his  en- 
counter with  the  odd-looking  unknown,  who  carried  an  eye 
like  a  ball  of  fire  in  his  hand,  or  else  swung  it  round  at  the 
end  of  his  tail;  and  how  this  strange  being  laid  hold  of  him, 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  307 

and  made  him  go  before,  and  point  out  the  grave;  and,  when 
they  got  near,  they  saw  a  ghost  or  angel  start  up,  and  fly 
away;  at  which  his  companion  was  very  angry,  and  said  he 
was  Satan,  and  the  angel  of  the  Lord  had  been  there  before 
him,  and  he  had  had  all  his  journey  for  nothing.  After  that, 
continued  the  old  man,  he  fell  to  swearing  awfully,  and  said 
he  had  never  been  able  to  catch  a  genuine  slave-stealing 
abolitionist,  and  hadn't  any  specimen  of  one  in  all  his  king- 
dom ;  but  he  had  priests  and  popes  and  generals  and 
colonels,  and  high-toned  gentlemen,  but  he  was  always  too 
late  to  get  hold  of  those  fellows  who  risked  their  own  lives 
to  give  freedom  to  the  poor  slaves.  Then  Old  Nick  told 
him  to  go  back  home,  and  not  to  speak  of  the  night's  adven- 
ture for  a  week ;  for,  if  he  did,  he  would  come  and  take  him 
off,  and  keep  him  in  chains  for  ever  and  ever. 

Within  two  days  after  this  story  was  first  divulged,  it  was 
known  by  every  negro  within  twenty  miles  of  Lancaster,  and 
shortly  after  by  the  white  people  as  well.  The  whole  white 
population  were  now  in  greater  alarm  than  ever.  They  felt 
that  a  volcano  was  smouldering  beneath  them,  and  might 
burst  out  at  any  moment.  A  general  insurrection  of  the 
slaves  was  feared;  for,  in  their  ignorance  and  superstition, 
they  might  venture  every  thing  in  their  faith  in  supernatural 
intervention. 

But  there  was  no  outbreak.  The  long-suffering  race  knew 
not  how  to  begin  a  revolt.  They  waited  for  a  sign ;  but  no 
sign  was  given  them ;  and  in  time  they  settled  into  that  stol- 
id, brutal  state  of  submission  to  which  they  had  been  born. 
The  day  of  their  liberation  was  not  yet.  Their  wrongs  were 
to  be  washed  out  in  seas  of  blood  of  the  stronger  race,  who 
were  even  then  accumulating  wrath  against  the  day  of 
wrath. 


308  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY! 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


"  How  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is 
To  have  a  thankless  child !  "  —  Shakspeare. 

The  trial  of  Seth  Mettlar  was  little  more  than  a  mere 
form.  He  had  no  defence  to  make ;  though,  with  a  consist- 
ent hypocrisy,  he  affected  to  be  a  much -injured  man.  He 
had  sent  for  his  former  counsel,  Mr.  Dextrous,  to  defend  him ; 
and  that  eloquent  advocate,  when  he  learned  the  merits  of 
the  case  and  the  nature  of  the  evidence,  advised  his  client  to 
plead  guilty.  But  this  advice  was  instantly  rejected  by  Seth ; 
and  then  the  accommodating  lawyer  prepared  himself  to 
make  the  best  defence  possible,  and  to  earn  the  fee  that  he 
had  taken  care  to  have  paid  in  advance. 

But,  though  there  was  no  doubt  about  the  result  of  the 
trial,  there  was  great  interest  taken  in  it ;  and  a  large  num- 
ber of  people  went  over  to  Chesterville  from  Montgomery  to 
witness  it.  Among  them  went  old  Thomas  Homer.  Poor 
man,  he  was  now  alone  in  the  wortd,  except  that  his  graceless 
son  was  left  to  him.  His  wife  never  left  her  bed  after  her 
return  from  the  Pivot,  where,  broken-hearted  and  penitent, 
she  went  to  report  her  daughter's  flight,  and  confess  her  own 
selfishness  and  folly.  Within  a  week  from  that  time,  she  was 
laid  in  the  graveyard  of  Montgomery  Village. 

The  day  before  the  trial,  Freeborn  Gomery  started  in  his 
old  family  carriage,  that  had  stood  twenty  years'  service,  to 
go  over  to  the  county  seat.  He  had  gone  about  half  the  dis- 
tance, when  he  overtook  Thomas  Homer  walking  in  the 
same  direction.  "  What,  Mr.  Homer !  is  this  you  ? "  said 
Gomery,  at  the  same  time  checking  the  horses. 

"  Yes,  squire ;  I  felt  curis  about  the  trial ;  and  I  thought  I 
must  go  over  and  see  how  it  would  come  out :  for,  if  that 
man  escapes,  I  think  I  could  tear  his  heart  out  with  these 
old  teeth." 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  of  that ;  but  how  is  it  you  are 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  309 

afoot  ?  Get  in  here,  and  ride ;  and  we  will  talk  over  matters 
as  we  drive  along." 

Homer  entered  the  carriage ;  and  the  fat,  lazy  old  horses 
trotted  on. 

"  Why  are  you  on  foot,  Mr.  Homer  ?  "  Surely  you  are  too 
old  a  man  to  walk  all  this  distance,  —  near  twenty  miles." 

"  Oh !  I  have  nothing  left  now,  —  no  wife,  no  daughter,  no 
farm,  no  house,  —  nothing,  nothing  but  Obed  ;  and  he  don't 
use  me  as  I  would  like  to  be  used  in  my  old  age.  I  asked 
him  to  let  me  ride  with  him,  and  he  said  no ;  he  and  Bill  Jack- 
man  were  going  together :  but  perhaps,  he  said,  somebody 
would  pick  me  up  on  the  road.  But  it  don't  much  matter 
to  me,  squire,  what  becomes  of  me  now.  I  am  not  at  all 
well,  and  I  guess  I  shall  soon  be  laid  away  in  the  graveyard, 
alongside  of  my  poor  wife;  and,  if  only  poor  Hester  was 
with  us,  I  wouldn't  care."  Here  the  old  man's  voice  became 
choked,  and  he  could  say  no  more ;  but,  burying  his  face  in 
his  old  bandanna  handkerchief,  he  sobbed  so  piteously,  that 
Gomery  could  scarce  refrain  from  a  like  demonstration. 

The  grand  jury  had  found  three  bills  of  indictment  against 
Mettlar,  —  for  forgery,  perjury,  and  subornation  of  perjury. 
The  acute  and  subtle  Mr.  Dextrous  resorted  to  every  art 
and  expedient  known  to  his  profession  to  save  his  client. 
He  questioned  and  challenged  jurors,  till  it  seemed  doubtful 
if  a  new  panel  would  not  be  required  in  order  to  find  twelve 
Unprejudiced  men.  Then,  when  the  jury  was  complete,  he 
tried  to  pick  flaws  in  the  indictment ;  but  he  was  overruled 
by  the  judge,  and  was  forced  to  the  general  issue.  In  this 
way,  the  whole  of  the  first  day  was  taken  up ;  and  on  the 
next  he  began  by  strenuously  objecting  to  the  admission  of 
the  affidavits  of  Randolph  Gault,  alias  Joe  Pumpagin,  as 
evidence,  and  insisting  that  he  should  be  brought  into  court, 
so  that  he  could  be  cross-examined.  He  also  ventured  to 
intimate  that  he  had  been  kept  back  or  hid  away  because  his 
testimony  would  not  bear  scrutiny.  At  this  point  he  was 
sharply  rebuked  by  the  judge,  who  warned  him  that  the 
character  of  the  plaintiff  in  this  case  stood  too  high  in  the 
community  to  be  assailed  in  that  court  with  impunity  by 
flippant,  imported  hirelings.  This  rebuke  called  forth  a  buzz 
of  satisfaction  throughout  the  court-room,  and  evidently  so 
well  pleased  the  jury,  that  it  was  clear  to  the  crafty  lawyer 
that  neither  trick,  subterfuge,  nor  eloquence   would   avail. 


310  GOMERY    OF    MONTGOMERY  : 

Nevertheless,  he  made  a  long,  ingenious  plea  in  defence  of 
his  client,  mainly,  however,  to  the  judge,  in  mitigation  of 
sentence,  as  he  read  the  verdict  already  in  the  faces  of  the 
jurymen. 

G ornery  argued  his  own  case,  or  rather  told  his  own  story, 
as  he  paid  no  attention  to  the  quibbles  and  subtleties  of  Mr. 
Dextrous.  The  judge,  however,  in  his  charge,  brushed  away 
all  the  latter's  legal  flummery,  and  told  the  jury  they  were 
simply  to  decide  whether  or  not  they  believed  the  prisoner 
at  the  bar  had  been  guilty  of  forgery,  as  charged  in  the  in- 
dictment. The  jury,  without  leaving  their  seats,  gave  a 
verdict  of  guilty.  The  judge,  before  pronouncing  sentence, 
said  it  was  the  most  atrocious  case  of  villany,  successful  for  a 
time,  that  had  ever  come  before  him,  or  that  he  had  ever 
heard  of.  Its  consequences  were  commensurate  with  its 
atrocity,  for  it  had  carried  ruin  and  death  in  its  train ;  and 
he  should  therefore  impose  the  highest  penalty  of  the  law, — 
ten  years  in  the  penitentiary ;  leaving  the  other  indictments 
to  be  tried  immediately. 

When  this  result  was  known,  the  spectators  generally  left, 
well  satisfied,  for  home.  Thomas  Homer  had  remained  till 
nearly  all  the  Montgomery  people  had  started  to  return. 
Gomery  had  told  him,  in  coming  over,  to  wait  till  he  went 
back,  and  he  would  give  him  a  seat  in  his  carriage.  But 
Gomery  could  not  leave  for  a  couple  of  days  more ;  and  Ho- 
mer had  no  wish  to  see  the  other  trials  of  the  hated  Mettlar. 
He  therefore  started  on  foot  to  return.  But  he  felt  sick  and 
weak,  and  often  stopped  to  rest  by  the  wayside.  It  Would 
be  dark  before  he  could  get  home,  at  that  rate ;  and  so  he 
hurried  with  the  best  speed  he  could  make.  Casting  his 
eyes  back,  he  is  cheered  by  the  sight  of  a  horse  and  wagon, 
in  which  there  is  but  a  single  person.  "  Surely  now,"  said 
he,  "  I  shall  get  a  ride."  The  carriage  approaches  briskly ; 
and  he  looks  again,  and  sees  it  is  his  own  son  who  is  driving 
it.  It  comes  up  to  him ;  and,  as  it  makes  no  sign  of  stopping, 
he  says,  "  Come,  you'll  certainly  give  me  a  ride  now."  But 
the  young  man  shook  his  head,  gave  his  horse  a  cut  of  the 
whip,  and  left  him  to  plod  his  weary  way. 

Ah,  Thomas  Homer !  Long  years  ago  I  foresaw  that  evil 
days  were  in  store  for  you,  when  you  were  a  stout,  thrifty 
young  farmer,  and  allowed  your  aged  mother  to  be  carried 
in  tears  to  the  poor-house,  there  to  pass  her  few  remaining 


A    FAMILY    HISTORY.  311 

years,  and  then  to  die.  I  knew,  as  well  as  I  know  it  now,  as 
I  see  you  dragging  your  weary  limbs  for  the  last  time  home- 
wards, that  sorrow  would  come  to  you.  You  grieved  deeply 
when  she  died,  for  your  conscience  smote  you  :  but  unavail- 
ing sorrow  shall  not  atone  for  sins  of  commission,  or  sins  of 
omission ;  for  "  as  I  live,  saith  the  Lord,  the  wicked  shall  not 
go  unpunished." 

The  poor  man  never  entered  his  own  door  again.  Sick, 
weary,  and  crushed  in  spirit,  he  reached  the  house  of  his 
brother-in-law,  and  could  go  no  farther.  Poor  old  man! 
His  son's  cruelty  and  ingratitude  had  broken  a  heart  that  had 
been  long  bruised  and  bleeding.  He  took  to  his  bed  as  soon 
as  he  entered  the  house,  saying  he  was  tired  ;  but  his  friends 
saw  that  he  was  more  than  tired.  He  talked  wildly  and  in- 
coherently, often  calling  his  son's  name ;  asking  what  he  had 
done  that  he  should  be  left  to  perish  in  the  street.  Then  he 
would  call  for  Hester,  and  then  for  his  wife.  A  physician 
was  sent  for ;  and,  under  the  influence  of  the  medicines  ad- 
ministered, he  was  made  to  sleep  for  a  couple  of  hours.  But 
he  was  never  to  leave  his  bed.  He  lingered  a  few  days, 
growing  weaker  and  weaker,  until  at  last  his  son  was  per- 
suaded to  go  and  see  him.  At  the  sight  of  him,  the  old  man 
started,  and  exclaimed,  "  Obed,  Obed !  you  have  killed  your 
old  father !  "  and  then  fell  back,  and  expired. 

The  other  indictments  against  Mettlar  were  disposed 
of  at  less  expense  of  time  and  talk  than  the  first.  Though 
tried  by  different  juries,  the  verdict  in  each  case  was 
the  same ;  and  the  sentence  abated  little  of  its  severity  by 
reason  of  the  long  punishment  previously  imposed.  For  the 
crime  of  perjury,  he  was  sentenced  to  five  years'  additional 
penal  service;  and,  for  subornation  of  perjury,  three  years 
more  ;  thus  making,  in  the  aggregate,  eighteen  years,  which, 
if  he  lived  so  long,  he  must  give  to  the  service  of  the  State. 


312  GOMERY   OP    MONTGOMERY: 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

"  Love's  last  fond  lure  was  vain."  —  Wordsworth. 

The  winter  season  set  in  more  than  a  month  later  than 
usual  among  the  hills  of  New  England.  But  it  came  at 
length  fierce  and  furious.  Yet  all  was  quiet  in  the  village  of 
Montgomery.  The  ample  harvests  had  been  gathered  in  by 
the  husbandmen  ;  the  cellars  and  granaries  were  well  stored ; 
the  boys  and  girls  had  been  provided  with  their  warm  and 
heavy  garments  that  they  might  defy  the  winter ;  and  the 
elder  people  were  happy  in  their  abundance,  and  in  the  pros- 
pective exemption  from  hard  labor  for  the  next  two  or  three 
months.  The  village  was  now  all  harmony  for  the  first  time 
since  the  evil  influence  of  Seth  Mettlar  was  first  felt  among 
the  people.  He  had  had  his  partisans ;  and  many  neighbor- 
hood quarrels  had  grown  out  of  his  protracted  contest  with 
Gomery.  But  now  all  were  united  in  praise  of  the  Gomerys, 
and  in  commiseration  of  the  fate  of  poor  Walter.  Long  be- 
fore any  thing  was  heard  of  Joe  Pumpagin,  it  was  announced 
in  the  papers,  that  after  having  made  a  full  confession,  and 
begged  forgiveness,  he  had,  under  the  remorse  of  conscience, 
committed  suicide.  But  they  had,  by  this  time,  all  been  in- 
formed of  the  contents  of  Walter's  letter  to  his  parents;  and 
no  one  doubted  that  he  had  been  foully  murdered. 

It  is  towards  evening  of  a  cold  clear  day  in  the  latter  part 
of  December.  A  large  covered  sleigh  is  seen  to  drive  through 
the  village  towards  the  Pivot.  Every  one  that  saw  it  felt 
that  it  had  a  funereal  look  and  air.  The  delicacy  and  re- 
straint that  had  formerly  forbid  people  from  pressing  their 
attentions  on  the  Gomerys  no  longer  obtained  among  them ; 
and  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  more  influential  men  of  the  place 
followed  the  sleigh  up  the  hill  to  the  Pivot.  The  squire  and 
his  wife  had  anticipated  the  return  of  Joe,  and  did  not  be- 
lieve he  would  ever  come  back  without  Walter.  When  they 
saw  the  covered  sleigh  turn  up  to  the  door,  they  knew  what 


A  FAMILY    HISTORY.  313 

it  meant,  —  that  Joe  had  returned,  and  brought  with  him  the 
remains  of  the  best  beloved  of  their  children.  The  curtain 
of  the  sleigh  was  thrown  back ;  and  the  burly  figure  of  Joe 
Pumpagin  stepped  out  upon  the  snow,  and  revealed  two  fe- 
male figures,  —  one  a  stout  mulatto  woman;  the  other  a 
form  enveloped  in  blankets  and  buffalo-skins,  but  through 
which  could  be  discerned  the  emaciated  features  and  large 
and  still  lustrous  eyes  of  Hester  Homer.  A  large  box  at  the 
bottom  of  the  sleigh  suggested  its  own  contents,  and  required 
no  explanation.  Both  Gomery  and  his  wife  had  steeled 
themselves  to  this  trial.  There  was  no  outbreak  of  grief, 
no  "  scene,"  on  the  part  of  either :  on  the  contrary,  Gomery 
took  Hester  in  his  arms,  carried  her  into  the  house,  and 
laid  her  gently  on  the  parlor  sofa.  He  looked  anxiously 
in  her  face ;  but  she  did  not  return  his  look,  or  seem  to  know 
him.  To  his  wife's  attentions  she  appeared  equally  uncon- 
scious ;  and  it  was  evident  her  mind  was  gone.  She  spoke 
to  no  one ;  and  Joe  said  she  had  never  spoken  since  the  first 
day  that  they  were  out  at  sea.  He  briefly  recounted  his  ex- 
perience since  he  left  them,  first  to  the  squire,  his  wife,  and 
Dr.  Toler,  and  afterwards  to  the  assembled  neighbors.  The 
most  of  them  are  already  known.  But  of  the  remainder  it 
needs  only  to  be  said,  that  when  fairly  out  to  sea,  finding  that 
Hester  would  not  leave  the  sight  of  the  rude  coffin  that  lay  on 
the  deck,  he  caused  it  to  be  opened,  hoping  that  the  sight  of 
the  body  would  have  the  effect  to  recall  her  reason.  She 
looked  at  the  face,  that  was  calm  and  placid  in  death,  for 
about  half  an  hour ;  and  then,  with  the  words,  "  I  am  com- 
ing," turned  away,  and  looked  no  more  upon  it.  They  were 
the  last  words  she  had  ever  spoken. 
vol.  n.  27 


314  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"  All,  all  are  gone,  —  the  old  familiar  faces."  —  Charles  Lamb. 

The  spot  where  David  Gault  had  been  buried  more  than 
threescore  years  before  the  time  to  which  we  have  now 
arrived  was  upon  a  small  knoll  of  about  half  an  acre  in  ex- 
tent, and  very  near  to  the  "Weeping  Angels."  The  knoll 
had  been  enclosed  by  Robert  Gomery  soon  after  he  settled 
upon  the  hill.  Afterwards,  at  the  suggestion  of  Joe  Pum- 
pagin,  a  substantial  stone  wall  was  built  around  it  by  his  son 
Freeborn,  after  he  had  been  admitted  into  Joe's  confidence, 
and  knew  the  story  of  his  life.  It  was  on  this  spot  that 
Walter  Gomery  was  buried,  on  the  last  day  of  the  year. 
Hester  remained  at  the  Pivot  during  the  winter ;  but  noth- 
ing could  recall  the  departed  mind.  She  never  spoke, 
never  laughed,  never  wept.  She  was  as  dead  to  all  around 
her.  As  the  spring  came  on,  she  grew  paler  and  weaker ;  and 
on  the  last  day  of  May,  just  five  months  after  Walter  had 
been  consigned  to  his  rest,  Hester  —  for  it  was  thought 
profanation  to  connect  the  name  of  him  who  had  been  her 
husband  with  hers  —  was  laid  beside  him. 

The  labors  of  Joe  Pumpagin  are  now  at  an  end;  and 
people  who  have  known  him  long  are  astonished  to  find 
what  an  old  man  he  appears  to  be.  The  stern  will  and 
fixed  purpose  have  kept  him  strong  and  vigorous  to  act. 
Now  his  work  is  done,  and  age  shows  itself  in  haggard 
lines.  His  sister,  Lady  Beresford,  waits  till  she  sees  the 
laws  of  nature  and  justice  vindicated,  so  far  as  possible  in 
this  world,  and  then  returns  to  England  to  spend  her  latter 
days  with  her  children. 

For  a  year  or  two,  Joe  continued  to  preside  occasionally 
at  the  Exchange,  and  make  the  favorite  flip.  But  most 
of  his  earlier  companions  in  his  bacchanalian  revels  had 
surrendered  to  a  god  stronger  than  Bacchus,  and  of  whom 
the  latter  is  said  to  be  prime  minister.    Little  Diller  had 


A   FAMILY    HISTORY.  315 

dried  up,  and  been  whiffed  out,  but  not  till  he  had  seen 
Freeborn  Gomery  established  in  his  rightful  possession,  and 
had  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  Seth  Mettlar's  sentence  to 
the  penitentiary  pronounced.  Tench  Wales  had  started  on 
his  long  journey  even  before  the  cloud  over  the  house  of 
Gomery  had  made  its  appearance.  Obededom  Homer  had 
become  a  drunken,  penniless  sot,  and  was  a  town-charge. 
Joe  lived  in  the  old  house  on  the  hill,  though  he  spent  the 
most  of  his  days  at  the  Pivot.  Gomery  and  his  wife 
scarcely  ever  left  home ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  great  sor- 
row they  had  passed  through,  they  continued  to  exhibit  a 
calm  cheerfulness,  and  a  cordial  welcome  to  neighbors  and 
other  friends.  The  memory  of  the  dead  Walter  is  to  them 
more  than  all  else  of  their  earthly  possessions  and  earthly 

joys. 

Joe  Pumpagin  lived  some  five  years  after  his  work  was 
done.  He  died  gently,  and  with  a  quotation  from  Shakspeare 
in  his  mouth.  He  had  been  long  failing,  and  knew  that  his 
end  was  near.  Gomery  had  come  up,  as  he  did  every  day, 
to  spend  a  couple  of  hours  with  him  ;  and,  as  he  sat  down  by 
his  bed,  he  asked  him  how  he  was.  "  Ask  for  me  to-morrow," 
replied  Joe, "  and,  as  Mercutio  says,  'you  will  find  me  a  grave 
man.  I  am  peppered  for  this  world,  and  mustered  for  the 
next.'  That's  not  Shakspeare ;  though,  of  course,  Shak- 
speare hadn't  all  the  wit  in  the  world." 

"  You  are  not  so  far  gone  as  that,  I  hope,"  said  Gomery. 

"  Ay,  that's  past  praying  for.  You  shall  know  when  I  am 
going :  when  you  see  me  fumble  with  the  sheets  like  this, 
and  a' babble  of  green  fields,  you  may  know,  like.  Dame 
Quickly,  there  is  but  one  way ;  and  then  you  may  feel  my 
feet  and  hands,  and  you  will  find  them  cold  as  any  stone, 
cold  as  any  s-t-o-n-e."  The  last  breath  passed  from  his  body 
with  this  last  word. 

Gomery  and  his  wife  lived  several  years  longer.  Joe 
Pumpagin  left  a  large  property,  the  fruits  of  his  Western  in- 
vestments, all  of  which  fell  to  Gomery ;  and  at  his  decease 
it  went  to  his  children,  who  already  had  more  than  they 
knew  what  to  do  with. 

Joe  was  buried  on  the  knoll,  between  Walter  and  Hester 
on  one  side,  and  his  father  and  mother  on  the  other. 

There  are  three  graves  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  Arch 
Fountain.    At  the  head  of  each  is  a  white  marble  slab.     On 


316  GOMERY   OF   MONTGOMERY. 

one  of  them  is  engraved  the  name  of  Joe  Pumpagin ;  on  the 
next,  that  of  Walter  Gomery ;  and  on  the  third,  the  one 
word, "  Hester."  More  than  that  there  is  neither  letter  nor  in- 
scription. But,  to  the  people  of  Montgomery,  the  names 
alone  suggest  the  whole  story  of  suffering  and  sacrifice ;  and 
many  tears  have  fallen  on  the  turf  that  rests  above  the  dead. 
But  the  angels  have  ceased  to  weep. 


END    OF    VOL.    II. 


Press  of  Geo.  C.  Rand  &  Avery,  3  Cornhill. 


:<'■>  V;;:>  " '; 


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